


Politico

by cygnaut



Series: Politics and Prose [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Background Darwin/Alex, Canon Disabled Character, Finished WIP, Genosha, M/M, Mutant Politics, Online Dating, gay mutant West Wing, what political system is this anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Genosha Politics AU. In which Erik is l'enfant terrible of the mutant National Assembly, and his staff just wants to get him laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

" _You_ are on _mDate_?"

"Yes," Emma says, cocking her hip and leaning forward so he can see a dangerous amount of cleavage. She's wearing the white lacy camisole again, the one that Erik feels is highly inappropriate for his Campaign Advisor cum Office Director. But if he's learned anything by now, it's never to critique Emma's clothing. So instead he focuses back on her face and asks again. "Seriously, _you_? Online dating?"

"Don't knock it. Lots of people meet online these days. It's a good way to weed out all the creeps without taking the time to meet them in person. And, anyway, I like the attention."

"I'm afraid to ask what your profile picture looks like."

Emma smiles. "I'll show it to you if you make an account."

"No way."

"Come on, you don't have to put your face up or anything. Just use it to search around a little, think about dating again. Baby steps." She's getting a dangerous look; the one she normally only gets when she's talking about party strategy. "Look, let me login, you can borrow my account and try it out." She elbows him out of the way and pulls his keyboard closer, quickly typing in the address.

"Emma," he grumbles, trying to get the keyboard back. She swats his hands away and takes over the mouse as well.

"See, you can limit the search to only Genoshans, or even people within a certain mile radius. There’re all kinds of filters too, like body type, interests, powers… gender," she adds, quirking an eyebrow slightly. "Maybe you can find someone on the electromagnetic spectrum."

"Is your screen name seriously 'Cold_as_Ice'?"

"Hey now, I may only have one schtick, but it works for me."

Erik sighs. "Why are you pushing this so hard?"

Emma tilts her head at him. "You know why, you've seen the same poll numbers I have. Our base is the most radical ward in Genosha, and even _they're_ starting to wonder who they elected."

"I still have a ten-point lead on any hypothetical challengers."

"For now. But your hardline stance is squeezing out all the independents. Not because they disagree with your message, but because they're afraid you're not all there." She taps a finger to her forehead to illustrate.

"And joining a _dating website_ it supposed to convince people of my sanity?"

"No," Emma says, speaking slowly like he's being exceptionally stupid. " _Dating_ will, preferably seriously. It'll soften your image. You need to look more stable and settled, more of a family man and less like a crazy preacher waving your End is Nigh sign."

“Preacher?” he asks.

“You know what I mean. You’re the Nostradamus of Genosha, the sky is always falling, the UN is always on the verge of invasion, humanity is always conspiring against us.”

“Those are perfectly rational—they _are_ conspiring against us! The only thing the Security Council as a whole can agree on is _how much they_ _hate_ _mutants._ ”

“I know, dear,” Emma says, giving him a pitying look as she starts entering a new search. “All the more reason for you to find a pretty wife and start popping out the next generation of mutant soldiers to guard our vulnerable shores.”

______________

Emma leaves eventually, as she actually has work to do that doesn’t involve harassing Erik about his love life. He's determined to forget that the entire conversation had ever happened, but unfortunately the most pressing thing on his plate right now is an incredibly boring piece of legislation from his Teleportation Subcommittee. It’s actually a somewhat important bill since the current licensing laws are woefully inadequate, as demonstrated by a recent debacle in which an eleven-year-old teleporter in Ward Four had stranded his entire elementary class on the roof of a twenty-story building after his friends had dared him to move their school bus. Erik had actually helped introduce the bill after the Bilocational Alliance for Mutant Freedom had approached him. Not that this personal investment makes it any easier for him to get through the deadly dull model legislation they'd drafted. Erik’s tolerance for legalese has improved somewhat over the past two years, but he still has his limits.

He also seems to possess a surprisingly strong curiosity about the love notes Emma sends over mDate. After about twenty minutes and one careful check that Emma is otherwise occupied yelling at the interns, he reopens his browser window and starts shamelessly snooping in her inbox. As it turns out, most of her messages are of a shockingly pornographic nature, to the point where Erik finds himself blushing and wondering how closely the Assembly IT department monitors their internet traffic.

Out of self-preservation he starts browsing profiles instead, only to find that those aren’t particularly work-appropriate either. Not that there’s any real nudity—there must be _some_ decency rules in place—but there’s certainly a lot of mutant flesh on display, and some surprisingly frank statements about how to see more of it.

Out of shock more than anything else he ends up clicking on one of the more provocative pictures, which, of course, is exactly the moment Emma decides to check in on him. She bustles into his office in her usual brazen fashion, making him jump in his seat as she cranes her neck to see his screen. He fumbles with the mouse, trying to close the window and failing utterly.

"I like her style." Emma says, leaning on his shoulder and looking approvingly at the woman's choice in underwear.

Erik backclicks and glares at her. "I thought the point of this was to help me find a politically appropriate wife, not cause a scandal?"

"I'm sure the scandal would only improve your ratings. And honestly, that's just an excuse. The real point is to get you laid so you're less tense around the office."

"I'm always tense."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you had an S.O. to take it out on instead of me."

Erik sighs and tilts the monitor screen, turning it away from her view. Emma rolls her eyes, but leaves him alone again, going back out to yell at Darwin for not yelling at the interns about whatever stupid thing they messed up earlier.

Erik fully intends to go back to the draft legislation, truly, if only to annoy Emma by not obeying her every whim… _but_ she’ll probably be arguing with Darwin for a long time, so really, a few more minutes of aimless searching won’t hurt… and he is curious, in spite of himself.

There are a surprising number of profiles, many more than he would have expected, and nearly all of them appear to be active. You’d think here in Genosha mutants wouldn’t have a problem meeting other mutants, but apparently pickiness is a trait they still share with their primitive human forbearers.

He goes back to the search page and pulls up a list of mutants who live in his ward, flipping idly through the result and skimming the profile pictures. Emma's search parameters from earlier are still on, and both men and women keep coming up in the results. He scrolls up to adjust the search again, mouse hovering over the gender checkboxes for a long minute. Well, it's not like he's serious about this, it can't hurt to look. He could use some more fantasy material, anyway. He checks the "men only" box with determination and refreshes the results.

The male photos are equally provocative, but most of them are more laughable than sexy. He dwells over a few of the ones with more extreme mutations, appreciating their unapologetic pride. He even recognizes a few faces, spotting some supporters he knows from rallies and campaign season. He cringes at the thought of them knowing that Deputy Lehnsherr was checking them out online. Talk about the perfect way to torpedo his serious and austere image.

One toward the bottom of the page jumps out at him, a boyish-looking man who somehow manages to be both pretty and interesting looking at the same time. Something about the face is familiar, but Erik can’t place him, clicking on the “info” button to see if any of the details there jog his memory. His username is "prof_x" and his occupation is listed as “academic,” which seems to fit with Erik’s vague recollections. Someone he met through the Subcommittee on Mutant Education and Special Abilities Training? Or someone he saw on that tour of Gen U last year?

He finds himself distracted by the man's “About Me” section, which is kind of stunning in its sheer ridiculous unsexiness. The guy is lucky he’s so attractive, as based on his profile his seduction techniques are in need of some serious work. In the Q&A section, under “I spend a lot of time thinking about,” he’d written “you, where have you been all my life?” Did that kind of line actually work for him? Maybe most people sent messages without actually reading these things. Or maybe there was a good reason “prof_x” was on mDate instead of having his pick of grad students at the university's dive bar.

"He's cute," Emma says, coming up behind him again and making Erik jump. He really needs to get some kind of privacy screen so she can't see his monitor from the door.

"I was—I thought I recognized him."

"Sure," Emma says, smiling in her deeply infuriating way. Erik tries to click the back button, but she bats the mouse out of his hand.

Emma leans over and starts to read, chortling to herself. "'I like taking walks at night, making new friends, and _recreational meiosis'_? Is that a sex joke?"

"I don't know, maybe? Also, 'I'm really good at… making Punnett squares and getting into your pants'? Is that supposed to be cute? Because it isn't."

"I don't know, I'm oddly charmed. It's so sad I sort of want to pity fuck him."

"Ugh, please don't."

"Oh, Erik, I would never dream of moving in on your territory."

Erik ignores her, scrolling back up to click on prof_x's 'details.' He frowns, skimming past the part about how he love animals, children, and alcohol. "His abilities are only listed as 'mental' and he didn't include his power level."

"Hm, well, lots of telepaths don't like to give details. Some people get weird about it, you know."

"I'd think it would be better to have all that out in the open."

"You _would_ think that. Maybe he's weak and embarrassed about it. Oh, but more importantly, look what we have here," she says, tapping pointedly on the screen above the box that says 'bisexual.'

"You don't know him?" Erik asks, trying to deflect her attention.

"I don't know all of the telepaths in Genosha, Erik. Only most of them. He could be empathic too, you know. Or something random, like the ability to sense the favorite food of everyone he touches."

"Useful."

"For a chef. You could make a whole career out of that actually."

"Hm."

"You know, if you _do_ want to date men, that would be okay."

"Thank you, Emma. I'm touched."

She hits his shoulder with the back of her hand in response. "I'm serious. It's 20-fucking-12 and this is Genosha. Come on, you’re so far into the closet that soon Darwin is going to start using you as a tie rack.

“I’m not in the closet, I just don’t talk about my personal life."

Emma rolls her eyes. “Okay, a) you don't have a personal life, and, b) same difference. Do you know a reporter once asked me off the record if you were on the DL?”

“The what?”

“You know, the down low.”

“Is that a—position?”

Emma sighs. “God, you’re so sheltered."

"Whatever. That is exactly why I don't want to talk about it; stupid questions from stupid reporters."

"You don't have to _talk_ about anything, just, you know, _find someone_ ," she makes a little flourish toward the computer screen. "And then don't hide it."

"People are going to ask anyway and you know it. Especially since—it seems weird. You know, they'll want to know about Ma—my marriage. If that was denial, or a beard, or what."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you don't have to _answer_ them. Let them make assumptions, who cares! Like you have a hard time telling stupid reporters to shut up."

Erik shakes his head. "It's a distraction and I have more important things to be dealing with right now."

Emma takes a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair like she's contemplating pulling it out. "Look, Erik, I know your greatest passion is your zeal for mutant self-determination, but the occasional night off is not going to cause Genosha to slide into the ocean." Erik tries to protest at that but Emma cuts him off. "Furthermore, as your political advisor, _I_ _promise you_ , it is also not going to ruin your career to be gay. Not in Genosha."

"Genosha's still far from perfect," he points out. "We only passed full marriage equality three years ago."

"Oh, come on. That was only because we were so early legislating civil partnerships that gay marriage wasn't even on the table yet. I'm serious, it's not going to hurt your ratings to be out. Has it hurt Darwin's career? Or Mayor Richter's? If anything, it might make people like you more, make you seems a little more—" She turns her hand in the air, searching for a word.

"Feminine?"

"Soft," Emma says, dropping her hand. "Which is exactly what we want. It's about perception, remember, not reality. Stereotypes can work to our advantage."

Erik shakes his head, turning away. "That's not who my constituents voted for."

"No one is going to care so long as you continue to froth at the mouth and see human conspiracies around every corner. The Seventh is one of the most liberal wards in the whole country, for fuck's sake! You'll have mothers trying to set you up with their sons."

"Well, when you put it that way—how could I _not_ want to?"

"Relax, I'll keep the yentas off your back. Besides, I think they'll like this one," she says, pointing back at the screen and prof_x's smiling face. "He's a doctor!"

"Oh, shut up." He looks away, tapping his fingers on the desk and looking for a way to change the subject. His eyes drift back to the monitor and he snorts. "Listen to this, 'you appreciate good food and good conversation, you're not afraid of arguing but never want a fight, you are loving even if you aren't always demonstrative'—Is this a dating profile or a horoscope?"

"Okay, that's enough, you've been staring at his page for twenty minutes now." Emma elbows him out of the way again and hits the 'message him' button, typing out a single line of text and hitting send while Erik struggles to get the keyboard back from her.

He pushes her aside and grabs the monitor so he can see what she wrote, slapping his palm to his forehead as he reads it:

> Cold_as_Ice
> 
> You're lucky you're so cute, your profile is maybe the cheesiest one I've ever seen, which is saying something on mDate.

"What the— _Emma_ , are you trying to piss him off?"

"I thought you didn't care either way? Besides, starting with insults is the best way to get to know someone. You'll see if he has a sense of humor or not." And with that pearl of dating advice, she winks at him and saunters off.

______________

Erik barely gets through two pages of the teleportation bill before it's time for the actual subcommittee meeting. He brings it along with him in hopes that he can catch up while the others are making their opening comments. He's not very successful, and his fellow committee members have a worrying amount of sticky notes flagging their own printouts. It looks like they're in for a very long session.

Emma sneaks into the conference room while Deputy McCoy is droning on about the differences between rural and urban teleportation. She slips Erik her phone with a solemn look like there's something vital on it he needs to see right away. Erik is confused at first, until he sees that she has the mDate application open and there's a message with prof_x's goofy face on it.

> Ha! That is nearly word for word what my sister said when she read it too. You're pretty cute yourself, if you don't mind me saying. I like your bustier, very flattering. What's your stressful job? From your profile, it sounds like politics.

" _Bustier?_ " Erik repeats, muttering it under his breath. The Chair glances at him from across the conference table and frowns. He gives her an apologetic smile and then tries to give Emma her phone back, but she walks away before he can hand it to her. He puts the phone down and tries not to think about silly academics with boyish good looks. Unfortunately, the subcommittee doesn't do much to distract him and he finds himself fiddling with the phone anyway, flipping it on and re-reading the message several times.

He gives up when Deputy McCoy brings up Section II, Paragraph f(1), the fifth such article he's had issue with. Erik leans back, trying to act like he's listening to McCoy as he hits the reply button and starts typing. Lots of the other deputies have their own phones or tablets out, most of them pretending like they're taking notes while actually checking their email. No one's going to notice that he's messaging someone on mDate instead of one of his staffers. Hopefully.

He starts five different ways before finally settling on opening with a causal, yet intimate sounding "hi there."

> Hi there. Yes, I am indeed in politics, but I don't want to talk about my job. It's as boring as it is stressful. Extremely boring at the moment. I'm seriously considering gnawing off my own arm to escape this meeting.

He starts to add, 'I'd much rather be talking with you,' but then deletes it. The answer comes within minutes:

> I probably shouldn't be distracting you then, but I'm having a pretty boring day myself. Being a scientist sounds really cool, but it also involves a lot of sitting around waiting for enzymes to process and DNA to finish sequencing. Not to mention all the grading. I got stuck with a survey class this semester and it is killing me. I love teaching and I honestly like most of my students, but their lab reports… oh, dear.

He looks up to find that McCoy is now describing his objections to Section II, Paragraph g(3). There are a over a dozen such clauses in Paragraph G alone. Erik grinds his teeth and decides that he's better off not listening too closely.

> Well, I don't envy you there. At least most of my colleagues are past frat age. On the other hand, the only scum you have to deal with lives in a Petri dish.

There's another fast reply, this one coming before Erik can even pretend to start listening again:

> Oh, that that were true… departmental politics can get pretty vicious. Some of our department meetings make Assembly Hill look like model UN.

Erik suppresses a slight smirk at that, glancing around the conference room to be sure he isn't missing anything vital before responding again. Time to see if he can't find out a little bit more about the 'professor':

> Ha. By the way, you look vaguely familiar to me. Do you spend any time on Assembly Hill? I feel like I've seen you before.

This time the answer takes longer, not coming until Erik is safely back in his office recovering from the committee meeting over a drink with Emma. She keeps an emergency bottle of vodka in her desk, and it's amazing how many emergencies they have on a weekly basis. His pocket buzzes while Erik's searching in the mini-fridge for tonic water and he frowns, pulling out Emma's phone.

"Forgot I still had this," he says, handing it back to her.

She smirks, glancing down at the screen. "Actually, I think this one's for you."

He takes it back, trying to look disinterested, and reads the message on the screen:

> Oh, no, politics isn't my bag, (no offense), but I did give evidence at a hearing last year and wound up on TV for my trouble. It's very embarrassing actually and I wasn't on my best behavior. I wish I'd never agreed to testify, honestly. I hope you won't judge me too harshly for it. I don't really want to go into the details now, but maybe I can tell you my side of the story some time in person.

Well, _that's_ interesting. A hearing? What hearing? It must have been one where they had university faculty in to—wait. No, it couldn't be—

"Oh," Emma says, tilting the phone in his hand and looking over his shoulder. " _Ooooh,_ now I remember. That guy with the limp. He testified at the human immigration hearing."

Yep, that was the one. Erik sneers. "On the side of 'human' rights."

"Oh, hold on, god—is he also the guy who you—wow. Small world. You really tore him a new one. Didn't he want to bring over some human scientist to do research in the Gen U labs?"

"Yes, some woman working on mutant genetics, if you believe it. The nerve, thinking he could get away with letting humans experiment on mutants right here in Genosha."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on. He wasn't _actually_ trying to experiment on mutants. Not like that. That was just a lot of hyperbole on your part and you know it."

Erik glares over the rim of his glass in response. It's not generally an issue he's willing to cede ground on. Emma only laughs at him. "Really, Erik. He sounds like your type. You love people you can argue with."

Erik rolls his eyes at her. "I'm sure we'd have some very scintillating arguments, but no matter. It's over now."

"Why?" Emma asks, laughing like she's surprised at him now.

"You think some human-lover is going to want to date 'Lord Magnus'?" he asks, using the nickname the press corps gave him years ago. It's supposed to be an insult, appropriating one of his old pen names, but he secretly likes it. You wear a cape _once_ for a gag photo and everyone acts like you've branded yourself crazy for life.

"Oh, whatever," Emma says. "You think he didn't recognize my face? Or other body parts?" she asks, gesturing downward. "I'm on TV all the time with you. And he asked if I was in politics right away. If he's happy chatting up Magneto's closest aid, I don't think he'll mind shtupping her boss instead."

"There will be no _scht_ upping of any kind," he replies, correcting her goyish pronunciation.

"Um, is that a personal rule?" a familiar voice asks, coming from the doorway behind them. "Or a new staff one? Because I might have already broken it. Possibly in the copy room."

"I really don't want to hear about it, Muñoz," Erik says, not bothering to turn and look at his Communications Director.

" _Twice_?" Emma asks, squinting a little like she's picking up more than she'd like from Darwin's mind.

Darwin comes in looking sheepish with one hand raised in mock surrender. He tosses a report with a lot bar graphs down on Erik's desk.

"Seriously," Emma asks. "What's so sexy about the copiers? Do you have some kind of toner fetish?" She sounds more intrigued than disgusted now. Probably because she never makes her own copies.

"That's not even a thing," Darwin says, starting to retreat.

"Close the door," Erik tells him and hears Darwin mutter " _gladly_ " before it shuts. "Okay, actual new rule, Darwin's boyfriend is now banned from the office."

"We can't do that, remember? He's Summers' brother. He picks the kid up at the end of each day."

"Fine, _new_ new rule, the copy room gets locked at exactly 6 pm."

Emma sighs. "I'll send a memo around and have someone make up a sign."

"Thank you."

______________

Erik is not in a good mood the next morning. His subcommittee reconvenes to continue their unfinished and still irritating business from yesterday. He is about ready to start advocating the complete repeal of all teleportation laws if it will make this stupid bill go away. There is something downright un-Genoshan about it after all; they're essentially talking about limiting the natural exercise of a mutant's powers solely because they make other people uncomfortable.

He comes back to the office after they break for the day, having resolved precisely fuck-all. He's annoyed and looking for someone to abuse, which Emma picks up on immediately. She come out of her office to intercept him, handing over a bottle of water. "I could have you installed in a bloodless coup in less than a day," she says.

Erik considers the offer, uncapping the bottle and taking a sip. "Bloodless?"

"Or as bloody as you like. Do you have a list of names?"

"In my head. Can you give me an hour? It may take some time to type up."

Darwin clears his throat, coming out from the conference room and handing Erik a sandwich wrapped in plastic. “I really don't like it when you guys have conversations like this.”

“It’s because you know we’re not joking," Emma replies, and Darwin sighs.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm only one in this office who believes in parliamentary democracy.”

Erik unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite. Mmm, pastrami, his staff knows him so well. “That is exactly why I hired you, Muñoz," Erik says in between bites. "Your knowledge of Genoshan politics and your inexplicable faith in the system.”

"Thanks, that's, uh, nice? Can we talk about the quarterly communications report now? I want to revamp how we're collecting voter messages and phone calls, I'm still not happy with our response time."

Erik sighs. "So long as I'm allowed to eat while you talk."

"Be my guest," Darwin says, waving him into the conference room.

There are a lot of statistics involved, and Erik would be impressed if he wasn't so bored. It's not that he doesn't appreciate what Darwin does—someone has to take an bird's-eye view of their communications strategy—but he's much more interested in talking to people one-on-one than looking at aggregated data and poll numbers.

Darwin had been Emma's hire. She'd insisted they needed someone who was an expert at crisis management considering Erik's tendency to say whatever was on his mind whether it was politically expedient or not. Darwin was one of the best PR managers in the business, ever adaptable as his nickname implied. He was also very, very good at atomizing and analyzing situations. He had a deep and abiding love of elaborate graphs with garish color schemes. Probably because he hoped the loud colors would help keep his audience awake.

Erik tries to listen, he does, but he keeps zoning out, thinking about prof_x and wondering if Emma will leave off about the dating thing now that this first, tentative attempt was a failure.

Darwin isn't an idiot and he can tell Erik's not really paying attention. He gives up eventually, pausing his PowerPoint slides and asking, "Erik, is there something else you want to talk about?"

Erik frowns at him and sets his sandwich aside. "Do you agree with Emma? Do I need to soften my image?"

"Uh…" Darwin scratches the back of his neck and glances at the door like he's checking his escape route. "Look, I really don't want to get involved in whatever weird scheme Emma is concocting to get you laid. But… I don't think you need to change anything, Erik. You got elected because you're passionate and people like that. They like knowing that you'd fight for them, that you'll never stop fighting until mutants have achieved everything we want to achieve… but…"

"Yes?" Erik asks, waving his hand for him to continue.

"There's something to be said for home-life balance. Or, you know, having at least some semblance of a life outside of Assembly Hill. I worry you're going to burn out if you keep making everything a line in the sand that can't be crossed. Some days you have to pick and choose your battles. Compromise. That's just the way it is."

Erik huffs a little at that. "Did Emma coach you on that speech?"

"No, it came straight from the heart," Darwin says, patting his chest.

Erik sighs. Well, speaking of straight. "Do you agree with her that it—it doesn't really matter _who_ so long as it's _someone_?"

"I don't think that's quite what she said, of course it matters who you—"

"You know what I'm asking."

"Hm, okay." Darwin shrugs. "Cards on the table, I think being out is important, you know that, especially for public figures." Erik has a lot of very strong feelings about this, but Darwin waves him off before he can interrupt. "I also think it's a very personal decision and no one has the right to know what's going on in your bedroom. But if you decided to do this… It's not going to destroy your career or anything. But Emma's wrong; it won't be a cake walk. It will change things. It gives people ammunition, power over you that they didn't have before, and it might hurt your standing with some of the older League members. But I also think…"

Darwin turns away from him, walking to the other end of the room to get himself a bottle of water. He leans back against the counter on the far wall, taking a sip and folding his arms as he studies Erik from across the room. "You've always struck me as a person who hates dishonesty of any kind, even lying by omission. It's one of the reasons I decided to work for you, and people respond to that Erik, they _like_ it. Your base is not going to be upset because you decided to be completely honest with them about your personal life."

Erik nods, looking away. "I know that, but… this isn't what I signed up for." He picks up his sandwich and takes a gloomy bite, mulling it over.

"Well, tough, it comes with the territory. Do you want me to crunch some numbers on it?"

"Would you? I'd appreciate it."

"Sure. One other thing—do me a favor and don't send anyone a picture of your dick."

Erik inhale a piece of coleslaw at that, coughing several times before he dislodges it. "That's your only advice?"

"Pretty much. I just don't want to turn on Good Morning Hammer Bay and hear them cracking jokes about your enormous 'integrity,' okay? 'Single Assemblyman Joins Dating Website' is not actually a news story unless there are compromising photos involved. And I would be the one in charge of doing damage control for your dick, so…" He glances downward and shrugs.

Erik coughs one more time, finally clearing his throat. "Noted."

"Now can we talk about revising our email workflow?"

" _Please_."

Darwin smirks, clicking a button to bring up a multicolored chart on the projector that is actually quite beautiful, in a horrible kind of way. Erik tries to do him the courtesy of listening as he explains its various axes.

______________

When Erik escapes from Darwin an hour later, one of the interns comes up to him, stopping him before he can get into his office. "Uh, Deputy, I have the video of that hearing Emma said you were looking for. The investigation on Human Immigration to Genosha and the Use of Public Funds? Ms. Frost told me to let you know as soon as I found it."

Erik glowers, thinking about interfering advisors who are under the mistaken impression that he hired them for their matchmaking skills instead of their political expertise. The kid is holding the disk out very stiffly, like he's making a conscious effort not to fidget. It's the one who has to wear those huge red glasses to keep his plasma discharges in check, the Summers' kid. Darwin had hired him in a clear act of nepotism to further ingratiate himself with his boyfriend's family. The kid was irritatingly deferential and timid around Erik, leaping up every time he said jump and all but shouting, "How high, sir?" It annoys the crap out of him, even though normally Erik appreciated toadyism in his subordinates.

"Right, thanks," he says, taking the disk from the kid mainly so he'll get out of his way.

Summers nervously drops his hand, still blocking the hallway to Erik's office. "I edited out the dead air and bookmarked the parts where you speak or give questions. You can find them by skipping ahead on the chapters."

"Oh? Good work, thanks— Slim," Erik says, falling back on his nickname since he can't remember the kid's real one. Not Alex, that's the older brother—Erik has met him at enough staff happy hours to remember that much. The nickname seems to please Summers, who smiles, flushing red at Erik's praise.

Erik finally goes into his office and tosses the disk into his laptop. He skims through it, deciding that re-watching the video can only reinforce his decision to stop messaging with prof_x. The hearing had been a long one, and the mutant in question didn't appear for the first few days. Erik skipped ahead, looking for the point where the Genosha University witnesses started showing up, most of them defensive about their use of public funding to pay for human employees.

Erik pauses the tape when he finally spots "X" in the audience, looking much different from his mDate picture with his hair slicked back. He looks worried, but not exactly uncomfortable, his cozy-looking grey wool suit and the patches on his elbows suiting his academic persona. He has a cane over one arm and a slow unsteady gait to match as he picks his way carefully up to the witness table with the other academics. Erik remembers wondering about that at the time, speculating that the man's mutation might have some adverse physical manifestations.

Erik fast-forwards past the opening remarks to the point where prof_x starts giving evidence, looking calm as he swears his oath and looks up at the table full of deputies, including Erik himself on the far right.

Erik finally learns his real name as he introduces himself. "Dr. Charles Xavier, Chair of the Genosha University Department of Applied Genetics." Erik remembers being taken aback by how young he was, surprised someone his age would be the head of an entire department. He also remembers being struck by how attractive he was. Or maybe that's a false memory, his recent daydreams about "prof_x" clouding his thoughts.

Dr. Xavier begins by giving a short statement, a lot of pabulum about the importance of building bridges between the mutant and human academic communities, and about the University being an ambassador for Genosha to the rest of the world. The committee begins their questioning and Erik take an active role, his questions sounding rather more forceful than he remembers them being at the time.

"Isn't it true that you yourself have written a recommendation for a human researcher from the United States, one Moira McTaggert?"

"Yes, that's correct," Xavier replies, remaining calm despite Erik's badgering tone.

"And isn't it true that Dr. McTaggert once worked for the CIA?" He waits for the gasps and murmurs in the audience to die down before continuing, playing them masterfully while Xavier watches him with a cold expression. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you, Dr. Xavier, that only four years ago it was revealed that the American Central Intelligence Agency had illegally held and experimented on United States citizens solely because they were mutants."

"No, indeed, Deputy. I am well aware of the facts, in so far as the US government has publicly admitted to them. I'd add that it was a case nearly as horrific as your own experiences in Germany." Erik remembers being genuinely angry at that, the jab implying that he was acting irrationally and being paranoid because of his past. At the time he hadn't noticed the compassion in Xavier's tone and the way his eyes had softened as he looked up from the witness table. Maybe it _wasn't_ the calculated attack that Erik had taken it for, but a genuine attempt to show that Xavier understood why he was so upset.

But Erik couldn't change how he had responded at the time, growing increasingly combative as Xavier tried to argue that McTaggert had nothing to do with those abuses and had left the CIA when they came to light. It got nearly embarrassing when Xavier tried reading from the woman's admittedly impressive resume, and Erik shouted him down with an impromptu speech that included the repeated use of the phrase "never again." It had won him several days of news coverage and the successful passage of a new law barring the use of public funds to support human workers. It was Erik's first legislative victory and his standout moment as a freshman deputy.

He pauses the disk as Xavier tries and fails to interrupt him once more, feeling embarrassed now instead of proud.

"Oh, don't stop, keep going," Emma says, appearing over his shoulder. "I love the bit where you imply he's no better than Dr. Shaw."

Erik tries to hide his cringe. "Do you think he'll remember me?"

"No, I'm sure he's completely forgotten how you insulted him at a nationally televised parliamentary hearing," Emma says, giving him a look that is both pitying and completely unsympathetic. "Cheer up, at least you made an impression."


	2. Chapter 2

It's all very logical and simple. Or at least Erik tries to tell himself that it is. He and prof_x—Dr. Xavier—are clearly not meant to be and there's no point in continuing this silly charade. Better to end it now before someone gets hurt. Or a gossip blog gets tipped off and Erik becomes the laughingstock of Assembly Hill.

All he needs to do is ignore Emma's suggestive comments and carefully avoid checking mDate. Easy enough since he never created an account in the first place. Very simple, child's play even.

Yet when Erik gets back to his apartment that night he notices that there's a new bookmark in his phone's browser. It's called "Hot for Teacher," and when he clicks on it suspiciously mDate's mobile website loads. Emma had conscientiously signed in already so he could check her messages. He can't help looking to see if there are any new ones, slightly surprised that Xavier had written him again, despite the fact that he never responded to his last message.

> Well, now I'm worried you're not answering anymore because you made the connection and are offended. It all got blown way out of proportion and, honestly, I've no hard feelings about what happened. It was a bit awkward for me at the time and I wish things had gone differently, especially since the new no-pay-for-humans law has squeezed my department's budget quite a lot. But as my father would say, I went into academia for the sex appeal, not the money. (j/k, most people aren't sexually attracted to geneticists, oddly!)

Erik squints at the screen. "J/k"? Really? He thought even teenage girls had stopped using that one. He wonders if Xavier is lying about having no hard feelings. Probably. Erik had compared him to a modern-day Mengele. That's not exactly easy to forgive.

He sets his phone on his nightstand and gets ready for bed, carefully resisting the urge to pick it up again and reread the message. He actually manages to turn off the light and lie down for a few minutes in the dark. He turns over, feeling restless and wishing he'd turned off his stupid phone. It's right within reach still, tempting him. He tosses back and forth a few times before giving in and looking at the message again.

Well, if it's going to be keeping him up all night he might as well send off one last reply. Something final that will assuage his guilt and also give him enough closure to never look at mDate again.

> I'm not offended. I actually didn't recognize you at first and now I feel weird about it for reasons you can probably guess. It's okay if there are hard feelings. I think *I'd* have some in your place. I don't know, it's not an excuse, but sometimes in politics it's hard to hear what someone is really saying to you. You're so ready with your own talking points and the battles you came to fight. I regret getting into it sometimes. I don't always like the things I do these days or the person I've become.

Erik rereads it a few times, thinking about deleting the whole message, but in the end he hits send. Well, whatever. Vague indirect apology complete. Now he can stop thinking about this and move on with his life.

______________

Erik has a good morning. He doesn't look at mDate even once, returning to work with renewed focus. He manages to have two productive meetings in a row, talking strategy with his neighborhood-level organizers from the Brotherhood and then sitting down with several of the sympathetic deputies who've aligned themselves with their party. He's on a roll and decides to use his momentum to track down Deputy McCoy. It's time to ask him point-blank what it's going to take to get the teleportation bill out of subcommittee limbo.

McCoy is not his favorite deputy. They are opposed both in terms of politics and personalities, and have already clashed several times. It's awkward since they're part of the same legislative "class," both voted in during the same election. They were outsiders then, although McCoy has gotten much cozier with the establishment than Erik has over the past two and a half years. They get compared a lot and called the two "boy wonders," even though Erik has a good ten years on McCoy. _The brash enfant terrible and the quiet consensus builder, which is the face of new Genosha?_ Erik finds it all very tiring.

Erik's lucks holds, and he manages to catch McCoy at the tail end of a meeting while he's still packing up to leave. "Look, McCoy," Erik says, cornering him before he can get out the door. "We both know the basic teleportation legislation is sound, why are you trying to tie it up? It's like you _want_ it to die in committee."

McCoy clears his throat, looking longingly toward the hallway and the coffee urn there. "Deputy, I know this bill is important to you, what with your strong ties to B.A.M.F."

"I wouldn't call it _strong_ , there are a lot of teleporters in the Brotherhood, yes—"

" _But,"_ McCoy continues, ignoring Erik's interruption. "I'm simply trying to make sure the bill we approve is a solid solution that will be beneficial to everyone effected."

"Bullshit."

McCoy bristles, his blue hair visibly standing on end all down his neck. "Excuse me, Deputy Lehnsherr?"  

"There's something else going on here, don't try to tell me there isn't." Erik has never been good at subtle, which is something of a problem for a politician.

McCoy draws himself up, adjusting his glasses. "Deputy, as you might be aware, Genoshan legislation is used as a model for mutant laws in many other countries. We are not simply laying out licensing laws for Genosha here, but legal standards that may impact millions of teleporters all around the world. I think getting it right is a bit more important that getting it out of committee early. Don't you?"

"It's not going to matter much if it never gets voted out at all," Erik snaps. "The spring recess starts in _two weeks._ If we don't get this bill moving, it won't get passed until next season."

"There are other, more important things on the docket that need to be cleared up first, don't you think? Like the finance bill, for instance?"

"The budget? Don't change the subject. The first reading's only a formality. It won't even be open for debate until after the recess—"

"I think it's highly relevant actually. In fact, coincidentally, I was just discussing it—and you—with Minister Munroe the other day—"

"What about me?" Erik asks, wondering if the Finance Minister has been trading stories about him behind his back.

"Erm, well…" McCoy makes an odd motion, like he's trying to collect himself. One of his assistants is leaning into doorway of the room now, looking alarmed to see her boss exchanging snippy whispers with Erik. She clears her throat, getting McCoy's attention.

"Hank, sorry to interrupt, but you have that 1:40 meeting. You're going to be late."

"Oh? Oh! Yes, thank you for the reminder," he says, quickly taking the opportunity to escape and dodging around Erik. "Well, see you tomorrow, Deputy. For the vote, I mean."

"And you, Deputy," Erik says, barely managing not to hiss. Who schedules a meeting for 1:40? They must think he's a fucking idiot.               

______________

He goes back to the office with his good mood completely spoiled. Not that his staff would know what to do with him in a good mood. Still, it's a shame they didn't get to see it. He decided to go harass Emma to blow off some steam, walking into her office and plopping down on the immaculate white couch she keeps in the corner.

Emma doesn't even turn her head to look at him. "Could you please check your messages already? My inbox is flooded."

"What? There's barely anything in my email." He only had like, 50 unread messages, tops.

"I meant _my_ inbox," she says, turning her monitor so he can see that she has mDate open. "Your loverboy has messaged me like five times today."

Erik squints, trying to make out the subject lines. "He asked to see your boobs?"

"What? No _,_ not—that is an actual message _for_ _me,_ which I nearly missed in between all of the heartfelt unburdening you've been doing."

"Oh, sorry. I guess I'll go—look into that."

"Thank you. Oh, and don't forget, they're reading the finance bill and doing the first floor vote tomorrow at 3. We should probably go over it at some point. If last year is any indication, you know we'll end up spending months dealing with it in the spring."

"I know, I know, later." Erik says, heading out quickly.

______________

Erik doesn't actually mean to check mDate when he gets back to the office, but somehow the window is still open on his browser. He glances in just to see if Emma's inbox is really flooded, finding that she was exaggerating a mite. There are only two messages from 'prof_x.' Erik opens the first one.

> Sorry, I didn't mean to give you a crisis of conscience. From what little I know of your career, I don't think you have anything to be ashamed about. Politics is a messy business, but there's nothing wrong with standing up for what you believe in. I've always appreciated the Brotherhood's vision of a triumphant mutant future, although I must admit I disagree with some of the particulars. My sister is a member actually, and pretty active. You've probably met her at some point. 
> 
> This might not be the best timing here, but in case it wasn't obvious, I'm very interested in meeting up with you. I'm much better at face-to-face than screen-to-screen. If you're interested, that is.

Here's his out then. All he has to do is say that he isn't interested and tell Xavier to have a nice life and that's that. Easy. Erik's hands hover over the keyboard, but he doesn't start typing. He can't seem to think of how to start. For a split second he has a horrible sitcom vision of Emma going to see Xavier in a bar while Erik plays Cyrano in a back booth, feeding lines to her because he's too embarrassed to show his face. No, bad idea. Emma would never agree to it. Or if she did she'd sleep with Xavier just to spite him.

There's a tentative knock on Erik's door, breaking him out of his crisis of indecision. "You busy?" Darwin asks.

Erik quickly minimizes his browser window and turns to look at him. "No, what is it?"

"I wanted to see if you had time to talk about your schedule for the spring recess. It's coming up fast."

"Right, sure."

Darwin already has most of Erik's goodwill stops lined up, and has created a very useful color-coded calendar based on the food and alcohol that will be served at each. Erik is most looking forward to Beth Israel's Purim feast, but the Seventh's annual Winter Beer Fest in mid-February is a close second. And, of course, everyone tends to go a bit nuts on February 28th, Genoshan Liberation Day. Holidays aside, Erik can't wait for this legislative session to be over so he can focus on his ward again, if only for a few weeks. He hasn't had time to go home in days and has spent every night this week sleeping in his Hammer Bay apartment. 

Darwin's main communications strategy is to keep Erik from talking at length with his own constituents as much as possible. This is actually mostly unnecessary, as while it's true Erik can be a prickly asshole, many of his supporters find his quick temper endearing rather than off-putting. In general, Erik much prefers working directly with voters to dealing with the power politics of Assembly Hill. It feels good to throw his weight around and use his newly-earned influence to good purposes, even for the comparatively petty problems of his ward and its residents. It's also nice to get the credit and thanks while his staff does all of the boring legwork and logistics for him.

His office has already become known for its work helping new immigrants, in part because of Erik's own experiences as a teenager. It’s gotten to the point where even mutants who don't live in Ward Seven sometimes come to them for help. He knows from experience that the Office of Assistance to Refugees is well-meaning, but badly overtaxed; it's too-small staff struggling to keep up with the steady flow of traumatized newcomers and their often unstable mutations. Each mutant is unique, and each presents new problems as he or she tries to integrate into Genoshan society, often arriving after years of social isolation and maltreatment. The island has an incredibly high PTSD rate for a country that hasn't been a warzone in over four decades. One of Erik's main campaign platforms was his pledge to double OAR's budget, a promise he is still working on fulfilling after two and a half frustrating years in office.

Erik also actively enjoys campaigning, deeply exhausting though it may be. It's no secret that he's a populist, one of his greatest strengths being his ability to empathize with his constituents. Many times what they're feeling is frustration at their only recently-democratic and often-chaotic government, an emotion Erik is intimately familiar with himself. His other great strength is his ability to articulate those feelings, to express their anger and rage at their injustices on a national scale, even if he doesn't have the clout yet to always get things done. 

Even when the Assembly is in session he still tries to spend at least two days a week in his ward, going to community gatherings, meeting with concerned citizens, hearing petitions, shaking hands. He has the luxury of being able to meet with a good portion of its residents in person thanks to its small geographic size. A personal touch goes a long way in the dense neighborhoods he canvases, most of them poorer areas on the outskirts of Hammer Bay where new mutants tend to crowd after their arrival in Genosha. Erik prefers working meetings, but Emma and Darwin arrange a good number of fluff photo-ops for him as well. Opportunities to talk with local school kids or break ground on a new community garden.

It can be tiring, and he isn't always on his best behavior, but Genoshans never fail to impress him with all their variety and vast reserves of strength. Such different people, people with nothing in common but a shared experience of being different, of being raised above the ordinary masses of humanity and suffering the prejudice and hatred that results. Yet despite all they've suffered, whether in their homelands or in Genosha itself, they are an optimistic people, pioneers working together to build a new future on the remnants of a regime which was once the most degrading oppressor of mutants on the face of the Earth.

It never fails to fill him with pride when he sees them gathered together, older Genoshans who were born into bondage, first generation immigrants, and their mixed children who have never known tyranny. It makes him feel deeply grateful to have the privilege to live among them, especially when he meets with native Genoshans who still remember the bad days of de jure state slavery, men and women who carry the visible marks of enslavement on their bodies. He feels a deep kinship with them, even though objectively he knows his own captivity was much different. Most of all, it makes him feel so very grateful to be able to represent his people in a government of their own creation, a mutant state for a mutant nation. Even if the National Assembly can be petty and contentious, and sometimes fails to live up to its own founding principles, its very existence is a miracle and a symbol of hope for mutants all across the globe.   

Granted, it isn't all holding babies and shaking hands with gracious salt-of-the-earth mutants. He has critics, voracious ones, and while he's learned to handle attacks on himself he doesn't deal well when his staff gets caught in the crossfire. There'd been a heckler at one of his last town halls, which tended to attract as many crazies as legitimate petitioners. The man had a ridiculous pink Mohawk, a trench coat, and a chip on his shoulder the size of the greater continent of Africa. He was a kid really, he couldn't have been more than 20, and listening to him had given Erik a strange feeling of déjà vu. There was something about his righteous fury that gave him flashbacks to his early days in the Brotherhood, back when it was less of a political party and more of a highly combative social group. Much like Erik as a young man discovering his first political outlet, the kid kept monopolizing the floor and coming back with more and more irrelevant questions, clearly trying to embarrass Erik and score points. It would have been amusing if it wasn't so deeply irritating to be confronted by his own mirror image; a portrait of the politician as a young man. It probably would have been fine if Emma hadn't been there and tried to intervene, interrupting after the third time the kid had gone over his allotted three minutes.

"Thanks for the reminder, _psycop_ ," he snapped. "Wouldn't want to break the rules on your watch."

There were audible gasps from the crowd, many of whom knew Emma's history. It wasn't exactly a secret; her past and freedom in Genosha was still something of a scandal in some circles. She didn't respond at all, but stood her ground and stared the kid down coolly. Erik knew her well enough to know that comments like that hurt, striking close to her deeply buried guilt.

"Excuse me," Erik said, drawing the kid's eyes back to him. "Attack me all you want, but don't go taking cheap shots at my staff. Ms. Frost is as much a victim as any mutant who was drafted against her will and exploited by a hostile human state."

"Victim? Yeah right, more like _collaborator_ ," the kid spat, starting to turn red, and _that_ had set things off, nearly as badly as if someone had shouted " _mutie_ " or "humans first!" Suddenly half the audience was on its feet, either shouting in agreement or disgust. There was general pandemonium, with only a few voices sounding clear above the din. " _All_ telepaths are collaborators!" someone yelled near the back, while up at the front an old lady was shaking her walker and saying, "Mutant means mutant! No hate!"

Erik rubbed the bridge of his nose, glancing over at Emma who shrugged. He tried banging his fist on the podium a few times, but no one was listening to him. He could have Emma send a general broadcast telling everyone to shut up, but that might stir up an anti-telepath riot the way things were going. Thankfully, Sean Cassidy was one of the police officers there on security duty, and he let out a painful shriek, silencing everyone as they covered their ears. "Hey," he said, still shouting loudly enough to make Erik's ears ring. "The Deputy has something to say!"

A hundred angry faces turned to Erik, who didn't actually know what to say or how to defuse things. As a rule, he was better at riling people up than calming them down. But he'd always been good at improvising, so he cleared his throat and started anyway. "I understand that many of you have suffered at the hands of telepaths, as I too have suffered—as some of you might be aware, at the hands of Ms. Frost herself," he motioned towards Emma while the crowd murmured angrily. She raised her eyebrows at him. _Where are you going with this?_

 _Trust me,_ he answered, wishing he actually knew what he was doing. He stepped around the podium into the open space in front of the crowd, trusting that his voice would carry now that they were mostly quiet. "I understand those sentiments, that fear. I do. I've felt it myself. But I realized something, something I learned from Emma actually. When she first came to me and offered to work on my campaign, do you think I welcomed that? Do you think I said, 'Certainly, Emma, why wouldn't I trust you after you spent years helping Sebastian Shaw torture me as a child?'" The crowd rustled, a soft gasp passing through them.

" _Obviously,_ I did not, I had reservations, and I am not a man to let go of a grudge easily. But do you know what she told me? She said she understood why I might be reluctant, but she wanted so badly to work for the Assembly. And do you know why? Because—and I am quoting here—'I can never really atone for the things I've done, but the least I can do is spend the rest of my life helping other mutants.' _That_ is why I hired Emma Frost, and I have not once regretted that decision. She is one of the hardest working, the most intelligence, and one of the most _sincere_ mutants I know. And let me tell you, those can be hard traits to find on Assembly Hill." He paused then to let the crowd laugh, releasing some of their tension.

"It's a difficult issue, I know that. I know it very personally. But I honestly believe that telepathic police forces are as much victims as _any other mutant."_ He pointed toward the ceiling then, punctuating each word with a stab of his finger. The old lady with the walker clapped her hands in approval while a few people in the crowd shouted in agreement. Erik raised his voice, not wanting to lose control of the crowd again before he got to his main point. "Emma was as terrified of Shaw as I was, and everything she did was because she had no choice. Just as other telepaths around the world have no choice but to work for humans or risk being tortured or killed."

There was some grumbling at that, but Erik plowed over it, not letting the malcontents take over from him. "It's a terrible position to be in, and the mutant-on-mutant hate that results is yet another way in which telepaths are victimized. By separating out telepaths and using them to control other mutants, humans are very deliberately trying to turn us against one another. I said before that I understood the hate and fear telepaths face, and I say that because I have experienced similar hate and fear myself as _all_ mutants have." He paused again while more affirmations came from the crowd, and even one loud "Amen!"

"I cannot stand to see us turning on one another with that all too _human_ sentiment. Mutants are mutants, and all of us deserve a place in Genosha!" That had turned the tide, all of the crowd on their feet then and most of them applauding while the instigator retreated, slipping around to the back while Erik smiled with satisfaction. The rest of the meeting had been a wash, but Erik had been pleased to see many members of the crowd come up to Emma at the end to shake her hand. Several had even made awkward confessions like, "I've never really trusted telepaths, but then I've never really known one."

______________

Darwin keeps it short for once, leaving Erik with several multicolored itineraries and a list of conflicting events to prioritize for him.  As soon as he's gone, Erik reopens the mDate window. Whatever, it's getting late in the day now. In a few more hours he'll be leaving anyway. He thinks about starting a reply, but then he remembers the second message Xavier sent while 'Cold_as_Ice' was unresponsive.

Erik opens it, surprised to find that it's longer than the first:

> Okay, I know you haven't even agreed to meet me yet, but there's something I need to tell you first in any case. I try to get this out early on because it tends to scare people off. I'm a telepath, as you probably guessed, and when I was a young man I tested at around omega-2 or 3. But the results are notoriously inconsistent at that level and quite frankly I don't think the Rao Scale really measures what it's supposed to be measuring. Comparing radically different types of powers on the same scale at all is idiotic and it really makes no sense when you try to break it down on an individual by individual basis. And now I'm rambling because I'm nervous.
> 
> The point is, I try to block out the thoughts of others as much as possible, but I pick up a lot passively no matter what, especially in what you might call 'intimate moments.' It's painful to block the people I love and I much prefer not to. I know you're a telepath too, but that's not what everyone is looking for or comfortable with or wants out of their relationships. So, there's something else to consider, I guess. Let me know if you're still interested.

Well, that's—startling. Omega-2, seriously? Erik's never met someone on that level, at least not knowingly. He must be able to do absurdly powerful things, _terrifying_ things. To be able to mess with your mind without you ever noticing that your mental furniture had been rearranged. Or completely redecorated. Scary. Erik hits reply, chewing on the end of his pen cap as he thinks.

Okay, enough is enough. This evasive crap isn't who he is, it's time to come clean.

> That's a bit intimidating, but you haven't scared me off completely. I spend a lot of time around telepaths, although honestly I've never dated one and I'm not sure how that would go. I guess we'll find out, that is, depending on how you react to my own revelation.

Erik thinks about ways to soft pedal this or ease into it, but in the end that's never been his style. He's much better at brutally efficient honesty.

> You're probably wondering what I meant by that last paragraph, since I'm supposed to be telepathic myself. The truth is, I'm not who you think I am. I'm not even a woman. I hope that won't be a problem.
> 
> Emma/'Ice' is a close colleague who's been bothering me to get out more and tried to get me to join mDate by giving me her password. She sent the very first message to you because I was looking at your profile. The rest have all been from me alone. As to who I really am, well, I don't think you'd believe me, so go check your email.

Erik hits send before he can think better of it and then opens a new tab, quickly finding the Gen U website and searching for Xavier's email address. Thankfully it's listed on his department's page, as he doesn't know what the hell he'd do next if it wasn't. The message he sends is short, and sent from his official Assembly email address.

> Hi, so this is me. The real me. I would include a picture but I think you already know what I look like. Also, I hate all of my old campaign ones. If you're still interested in this and available tonight, meet me at the Hawk & Dove at 7. I'll be in the upstairs bar.

He feels like he needs to say something else, so before signing off he adds,

> Sorry I was such a dick the first time we met.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains discussions of childhood abuse and medical experimentation.

Erik normally never leaves the office before 6:30, but he finds himself anxiously refreshing his inbox after he sends his message to Xavier and completely failing to focus on anything useful. Around 5:45 he gives up, realizing any work is a lost cause at this point. He pulls open his left desk drawer and starts rummaging around in the set of dress shirts he keeps there. Emma hears the sound from her office down the hall and comes to investigate, nosey as ever.

"Heading out?" she asks, standing in the doorway and somehow making the question sound innocent.

"Yes," Erik says, unbuttoning his cuffs. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hm," she says, watching him discard his stale white shirt and pull on a fresh one. "So what's this I hear about you having some fight with Munroe? The grapevine is practically fermenting over it."

Erik sighs. "That was like over a week ago, Emma, it's no big thing."

"Explain it to me then. I'm curious why you didn't tell me about it already," she says, using a tone that is less 'curious' and more 'deeply irritated.'

"Can we save this for tomorrow? I'm about to leave." He opens his other desk drawer, the one that's full of ties, and contemplates his options, wondering if he should go with his usual red. He's always preferred strong reds and purples, their shades suggesting an assertive strength tempered with compassion. He pulls out several to compare, glancing over at Emma as he considers them. "Incidentally, can I ask you a question?"

"Wear the blue. It brings out your eyes."

"Thanks," he says, picking up the one she indicated and threading it around his collar. "But actually, what I was going to ask was if you know of any omega level mutants?"

She shrugs, giving him an odd look. "I can think of one or two, why?"

"Xavier says he's somewhere around an omega-2."

She whistles. "Wow."

"What could you do at that level?"

"Well, everyone's powers are different, but telepaths like that can usually control people remotely, not to mention erase memories, implant false ones, hijack your senses… basically anything."  

"Yikes, imagine dating someone like that."

Emma shrugs. "He seems harmless enough, and anyone's powers can be dangerous. You're pretty scary when you start moving cars around."

"Yeah, I guess. I'm just not used to the idea. You're the only telepath I've ever really known." He starts to clean up, putting away the unneeded ties and organizing his desk for tomorrow.

Emma sighs, helping him collect some of the scattered papers and tapping them into a neat stack. "You realize I tested as an alpha-1 once, right?"

"Are you fucking with me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Well, you know, _before._ Not anymore."

"Oh." He clears his throat. "I didn't realize you were still so blocked up."

Emma stops straightening the pages and glances over at him. "Probably because I never talk about it. Sebastian was very thorough."

 He doesn't know what to say to that, so he steps around the desk instead, coming over to stand next to her. She holds up a warning finger, stopping him before he gets too close. "Don't you dare try to hug me."

Erik tilts his head. "Because I'm such a hugging person? I was going for a stoic back pat actually. Have I ever even hugged anyone in your presence before?"

She presses her lips together. "Not that I recall."

Erik nods and claps his hand on her shoulder. He makes it more of a squeeze than a pat and says, "stay strong," before turning to go.

_I hope you realize I'm rolling my eyes so hard it hurts right now._

Erik doesn't respond aside from holding his clenched fist in the air, a gesture of silent solidarity that makes Emma snarl in his head.

______________

It's foggy when Erik steps outside, the night unseasonably cold for January. The weather makes everything seem quieter, masking the sounds of rush hour as the Assembly district empties for the night, hundreds of workers stepping softly home. Erik walks down the main avenue so he can see the skyline of the city spread out along the bay, painted with a hazy brush by the mist, a halo around every light. The red dome of the National Assembly is behind him, lit up like a small sun waiting for a dawn that hasn't come yet.

It gets quiet around the Assembly buildings at night, but there are a few bars frequented by politicians and federal workers nearby. The Hawk & Dove is Erik's favorite. It's an older, slightly musty establishment that has been around since the 1970s when it was filled with career military men and fresh-faced recruits. It's less a bar and more a series of small, wood-paneled rooms, full of quiet nooks where a deputy can escape for a few hours and put up his feet without anyone bothering him. 

Erik goes upstairs, heading to the back of the bar there and selects a booth where he can see the entrance. He orders a scotch and tries not to fidget, reminding himself that he's early.

Early gradually becomes punctual, and then late, and then steadily later. Well, this was somewhat last minute. Maybe Xavier already had plans. Or maybe he hasn't checked his email yet. It doesn't necessarily mean that he stood him up.

Erik is debating whether to leave or order another drink when a young woman comes up to him, asking politely, "Are you Deputy Lehnsherr?"

Erik bristles for a moment; normally the regulars are good about not bothering the notables who come here to unwind. But then he realizes that she's staff, one of the hostesses who was working downstairs when he came in.

"There's a man in the dining room looking for you. He said he couldn't make it up the steps." 

It takes Erik a moment to process that before he remembers Xavier's cane. Shit, that was thoughtless. Great, well, they're off to a good start already.

Erik follows the hostess back downstairs to a table in the back corner of one of the dining rooms. Sure enough, Dr. Xavier is there waiting for him with a pint of ale and a somewhat suspicious expression. He's wearing a soft-looking navy sweater, and it might be the dim light, but he looks older and more worn than his picture on mDate. There are lines around his eyes and a deep crease in his forehead. When he sees Erik he starts a little and leans back in his chair, considering him. "Do you know why I'm here?" he asks, the deepness of his voice surprising Erik. He'd forgotten what he really sounded like after listening to the low-quality recordings of the hearing.

Erik glances around the room at the handful of other dinners, wondering if this is a trick question. "I hope it's because I asked you to be?"

"Wow, okay," Xavier says, his face breaking out into a broad smile. He laughs loudly, like he couldn't stifle it in time, and gestures to the seat in front of him. "I guess you really _did_ then. Life is… very strange sometimes."

"You're telling me," Erik says, sitting down.

"Who would think that after… that we'd… wow. You know, I honestly thought this was someone playing a prank on me."

"No, it's actually me," Erik says. There's a pause then, and Erik can't think how to fill it. He finds himself staring into Xavier's face, examining his features. Up close he can see that he has freckles, a small smattering across his cheeks and several on his nose. His lips are very red too, like maybe they're a little chapped. Or recently bitten.

"Sorry about making you wait," Xavier says, pulling Erik's attention back up to his eyes. His very, very blue eyes. "I'm not having a good day for stairs." He taps the cane leaning against the table next to him.

"No, it was my fault. Telling you to go upstairs was… dumb."

"Oh, it's all right. I like to have my abilities overestimated. I guess we should introduce ourselves properly then. I'm Charles."

"Erik," he says, taking Charles' offered hand across the table.

There's another awkward pause, both of them looking at one another uncertainly. Charles clears his throat. "Should we talk about the hearing? I feel like it's just going to be this big elephant in the room until we do."

"Right. Then let me start by apologizing again. And if you knew me better you'd realize how rare that is."

Charles laughs. "I think I have a general idea."

"Yes, well."

"Thank you, but you don't need to apologize. I get it. It wasn't personal."

"No, it was—I mean." Erik scratches the back of his neck. "For me. It's not some abstract issue, it's still very real and... and I can tend to get a bit—combative."

"You don't say."

Erik grimaces. "Right. So that's me then."

"I really do get it," Charles says, taking a sip of his beer. "My sister—I think I mentioned her before—she's a shapeshifter and she used to say she had to wear an attitude when she went out in her own skin. Like putting on armor, or a sign that said 'screw you, I don't care what you think of me.'"

"I think I'd like your sister."

Charles smiles. "She already likes you. She called me after the whole fiasco and said she was glad someone had been there to tell me what a dumbass I was being when she wasn't around."

Erik laughs. "But you weren't really. I might have… overreacted."

"You don't have to keep apologizing. I understand it was very personal. It is for me too. Genetics is in my blood, in more ways than one." He lets out a nervous laugh that doesn't sound very amused. "The first person to identify my mutation was my own father. He was a geneticist too, a researcher. He—" Charles cuts off, his eyes unfocused, looking past Erik over toward the tables on his left, but Erik is sure he's not seeing the room behind them.

"He studied mutants?"

"All the best researchers did. Do. But then it was really the cutting edge. He worked for one of the first government labs, out at Fort Drum, long before I was born. I still wonder sometimes if—" Charles licks his lips. "If I was an accident. A top geneticist in a leading research center has one of the most powerful telepaths on record? Pretty big coincidence."

The hair on the back of Erik's neck stands up. He might have been a medical subject as a kid, but at least he knows his parents were never part of it. At least not willingly. "Did you ever ask?"

"No, we never really talked about it. About me. He was very good at compartmentalizing. I guess he had to be, spending the day experimenting on mutant children and then coming home to his own son… I presented early, like a lot of telepaths, and he had my DNA completely sequenced before I was eight. But he kept me out of the labs as long as he could. I wasn't registered until I was 18. My genes are still on file somewhere." He frowns, the creases in his forehead deepening. "I wonder sometimes what they've done with them. If they’ve used them to make other telepaths. Or new ways to control us."

Erik nods solemnly. "It's a scary thought, I wonder about it too. Shaw's work still forms the basis of nearly all the mutant genetics research in Europe."

"Not just that, all of the research period." Charles licks his lips, looking away. "It's something we don’t like to talk about, but it's true. Most of what we know about X-gene expression Shaw figured out first. I don't mean to… it's not really the same, of course, what happened to me. My father was never abusive. Just curious. And like I said, I barely spent any time in the mutant centers. Not like some people who get taken away from their families as children."

" _Humans_ ," Erik mutters vehemently, looking away.

"Don't—how can you say that when—" he makes an undignified noise, visibly stopping himself from continuing.

"When what?" Erik asks, knowing full well what he was about to say.

Charles looks uncomfortable, one corner of his mouth drawing down. "When Shaw himself was a mutant."

Erik grins one of his nastier smiles. "Shaw might have been, but the board who directed his research wasn't, nor any of the other people who knew full well what he was doing and how he got his results. They were human, as were all of his funders and 99% of the doctors and psychologists who worked with him. The _system_ that made Shaw possible was human, and that same system continues to torture mutants in the name of science in every 'civilized' human nation in the world."

Charles bows his head. "You say you want to attack the system, but you can't do that without human allies working to change it from the inside. Tarring every human with same brush and refusing to work with them does as much to set back mutant rights as any hate group."

"You can't be—making concessions to our oppressors does nothing to help mutant rights. Our people need help _now._ Those mutant kids in America don't have time to wait while humanity 'comes around' and finally recognizes that we deserve full citizenship."

"But you can't—" Charles throws his hands up and leans back. "Ugh, why are we arguing about this?"

"Because you're wrong," Erik snaps, and Charles actually laughs at him.

"No, no, sorry," he says, waving his hands when he sees Erik's angry response. "I'm not laughing at you, it's just. We're being so silly, arguing about tactics when really we agree completely."

"Do we?"

"I think so? Maybe not. Still, it's absurd. I don't want us to allow human hate groups into Genosha or anything. Fuck them." He looks up, studying the ceiling and taking a deep breath. "And… I can even see the point behind cutting off all public funding to humans. God knows that mutants get the short end of the stick everywhere else."

Erik wipes a hand over his face. "You know, I told myself before I came here, 'it'll be fine, just don't start yelling at him like a crazy person again.'"

Charles smiles, biting his bottom lip in an extraordinarily distracting way. "I don't think you're crazy. You're probably one of the most sane politicians I know."

"Do you know a lot?"

Charles shrugs. "A few. It's a small island. I like it actually, that you're so... passionate."

"There are other words for it."

Charles dismisses this with a gesture. "Like you said before, it's not abstract, it's personal. It should be personal, for all of us."

Erik pauses a moment, and then starts unbuttoning his sleeves, deliberately rolling them up and baring his forearms. He sets them out on the table, wrists up so Charles can see his scars. They're mostly faded now, after twenty years, but the track marks still stand out against his pale skin. All the divots and pockmarks from years of badly inserted IVs, the veins visibly scarred from the inside of his elbow nearly down to his wrists.

Charles reaches out and cups Erik's hands in his own, saying softly, "Oh." He runs his hands up over the back of Erik's forearms and then lightly back down over the damaged skin, the pads of his fingers coming to rest on one of the worst scars near the crook of his left elbow. A wound that had actually gotten infected and festered for months. "These are—awful."

Erik shrugs, he means to take his arms back, but doesn't for some reason. He lets Charles keep exploring, his eyes tracing over each nick and raised line. "They weren't very well trained," Erik explains. "Shaw's nurses. Not that it was really their fault, necessarily. It's hard to thread true when you're trying to stick a squirming screaming child."

Charles' thumb strokes down his wrist over the web of lines there, and Erik feels a sudden rush of arousal, thinking about how those hands might feel touching other places on his body. He jerks a little as Charles accidentally brushes a particularly sensitive spot and pulls away.

Erik clears his throat as he tugs his sleeves back down and buttons his cuffs. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away, I probably owe you several agony stories in exchange for that."

"What happened to your leg?"

"Oh," Charles shakes his head and sets down his glass. "It's not really my legs. I have an incomplete spinal cord injury. Central cord syndrome, which is sort of like... a bruise. A really bad bruise." 

"Incomplete?"

"It's pretty much what it sounds like. When the nerves are damaged but not completely severed."

"Were you in an accident?"

"No," Charles says, shaking his head. His mouth twitches, expression shuttering slightly. "Remember, I registered at 18, and I was drafted of course. There's really no way around it for a telepath. I was put in the telepathic corps and served for… a while. So, um, one day I was sent on a mission to apprehend a mutant who, as it turned out, was mildly resistant to telepathic control. He broke the hold I had over him, killed my partner, and threw me into a wall head first. Then a sort of—building fell on me." He waves a hand vaguely, his eyes distant.

"I'm sorry," Erik says.

Charles shrugs. "At the time it felt… both like something I deserved and like my own personal salvation."

"Hm?"

"I was put on extended leave, which was… _wonderful._ Not that I was free of the corps' control, a telepath doesn't have to be mobile to be useful, but I had a very lengthy recovery period and I didn't have to hunt other mutants anymore. And then my parents—my mother, really—arranged for me to go to a special clinic in London to recuperate. I had family there, so it wasn't that odd, although I'm still not sure how they managed to get me out of the country. There must have been a lot of favors involved. And from there it was reasonably easy to slip my guard and hop the train to France, and then on to the coast to find one of the traffickers that smuggled mutants by boat to Genosha."

Erik nods. "Did they arrange that? Your parents?"

"Oh, no. My father would never—well, he's dead now. I think my mother knew it would be possible once I got to England, but we never talked about it as such. And we haven't really talked since."

Erik nods. "It seems like—are you in any pain?"

Charles bites his lip, and for a moment Erik thinks he's going to cry. But then he's looking up again and his eyes are over-bright and red, but dry. "I have good days and bad days. Is there anything else you want to ask?"

"I don't really know—what does a partial injury mean exactly?"

"It's very… variable. But in my case it means I have difficulty walking, weakness in my arms, and some lessened sensations. I mean, everything still _functions_ ," he says, raising an eyebrow. "It's just… different. I don't really feel temperature in my limbs anymore, which is weird. The sensation gets sort of scrambled, so it comes through as pain instead of cold, and I get this pins and needles feeling when it's really hot out. There's some other stuff, but it's not really, uh, dinner table conversation."

"So that's why," Erik nods to the cane resting on the end of the table and Charles nods.

"The cane is usually enough, but lately I've been having some, uh, mobility issues."

"Do you… not want to talk about it?"

"Not really, sorry. I—I've been talking about it a lot lately. Really I'm very lucky. I was completely paralyzed at first, but then some of my sensation started coming back and eventually most of my motor functions. It could have been much worse. I try to remember that." He takes a sip of his beer, which is nearly gone. "Does it seem like I've been talking for a very long time? What about you. Is there anything else you want to put out on the table, now that we've discussed your childhood experimentation and my SCI?" 

Erik shrugs. “I’m divorced.”

“I know, I read your profile in the _Hammer Post._ The one from last years' budget debate?”

“That reporter had an agenda, she blew the whole thing completely out of proportion—“

“I know, Erik, I was really more interested in the gossipy bits than the political insider baseball.”

“Oh.”

“Was she really human?”

“Uh, yes,” Erik says, looking away. “It’s kind of—complicated. I went back to Germany to be with her but. It didn’t work out. Obviously. I was a very angry person then.”

Charles raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

“Like, a person with actual anger _issues_ , as opposed to someone with a healthy sense of outrage over the consistent persecution of mutants that is the norm in every country on this Earth except—”

Charles puts his hand on his wrist, pressing in on his pulse-point lightly with his thumb and stopping Erik before he really gets going. It’s kind of impressive. Very few people are capable of silencing him when he’s working himself into a good self-righteous lather. “You’re preaching to the choir, darling," he says, his voice turning teasing. "Not that I don’t enjoy hearing you rant.”

Erik coughs out a laugh and leans back. Charles doesn't take his hand back, still keeping a loose hold on his wrist.

"Anyway," Erik says. "There were—other reasons. Why it didn't work out."

Charles nods, looking sympathetic and Erik has to resist the urge to keep going. A first date is really not the time to be going into the details of Magda's miscarriage and the subsequent slow-motion collapse of their marriage. She had never forgiven him for insisting that they would have to move to Genosha for their child's sake. Losing the baby might have been the best outcome, really—saving them from years of international court battles over custody—but it's hard to see it that way even now.

"I saw that meeting you were in the other day, that mob scene."

"Hm?"

"The thing about Frost? When some guy called her a psycop."

"Oh, that," Erik says, clearing his throat. "Wait, where did you hear about that?"

He shrugs. "Someone uploaded it to Youtube."

"Fucking internet," Erik grumbles, wondering why his staff hadn't found out about this and told him. Useless slackers, all of them.

Charles laughs, taking his hand off Erik's wrist and chuckling into his beer in a shockingly charming way. "It was nice, your little speech I mean. You did a good job defusing things."

"Oh, well. Thanks."

"Did you mean it?"

"Of course," he says, wrinkling his forehead. "Well, I might have exaggerated Emma's guilt for effect, but she is genuinely remorseful. And it's stupid, being scared of telepaths. Like any of our abilities wouldn't be scary in the wrong hands."

Charles smiles at that, looking a little sad now. "A lot of people don't seem to feel that way."

"A lot of people are stupid. Listen, I meant what I said before, in my email. I'm not going to say that it doesn't bother me at all, I've never dated a telepath so I can't really say, but Emma's pretty powerful and I've gotten used to having her around." Oddly, it helps that she had already taken apart his mind and put it back together before he was fifteen. He doesn't have much to hide from her anymore. "I think she knows rather more about my subconscious than she'd like to."

"I think I'd like to. Know you, I mean."

"Well, you're in luck," Erik says, glancing at his watch. "Because I don't need to go back to the office for nearly... seven hours."

"Hm," Charles replies, the flirtatious tone back in his voice. "Time enough for a very thorough interview, I'd say."

Erik can feel his smile growing wolfish. "Any particular questions on your mind?"

Charles tilts his head. "Do you live nearby?"

______________

As it turns out, Charles' place is closer than Erik's, only a few blocks away on Helix Avenue where the edges of Gen U's campus begins. He says it's only a twenty minute walk from Assembly Hill, but Erik is soon wondering whose walking pace that's based on. Charles has a slow shambling gait, almost like he's drunk and just barely catching himself from falling with every step. It's making Erik intensely nervous and also very guilty about making him come all this way in the first place.

"Are you sure you don't want to get a taxi?"

"No, truly. Where would we even find one at this time of night? The exercise is good for me, I promise. I get stiff when I sit for too long. So long as you don't mind taking it slow."

"No, there's no hurry. Well—"

"Walking only, I hope," Charles says, smiling in that way where he bites his lower lip at the same time. It's quickly becoming one of Erik's favorite expressions. "I much prefer fast when it comes to other things."

Charles apartment is something of a shambles, a cozy first floor condo with stacks of books piled on every surface and a coffee table covered in papers. The couch is clear though, and comfortably luxurious as Erik sinks into it next to him.

"What say we pretend I offered you something to drink and we made small talk."

"Okay?" Erik says.

"Good, because then I can do this." Charles slides his hands up Erik's chest and grabs his tie, tugging him over into an open-mouthed kiss.

" _Hm_ ," Erik says. He brings his own hands up to stroke over Charles' flanks, finding the bottom his sweater and rucking it up so he can feel the hot skin underneath. Charles makes quick work of his tie, kissing him again as he yanks it off rather forcefully.

"It this okay? Like this?" Erik asks, breaking away as Charles starts to unbutton the front of his shirt. "Comfortable, I mean?"

"Huh?" Charles asks, giving Erik a distracted look like he doesn't understand why he's talking when he could be sucking on his bottom lip. Erik isn't totally sure himself. "Oh, yes, don't worry about me. Sitting up is fine. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable. You aren't going to hurt me, Erik. Or, if you do I'll tell you to stop. It's not a big deal."

Erik nods, leaning back in to find his mouth again and feeling Charles sigh in appreciation. Their tongues meet and Erik startles a little, the jolt of pleasure like a pleasant shock. Charles makes a noise in appreciation, pushing closer and deepening their kiss. His hands are sliding up and down Erik's front now, moving repeatedly from his shoulders to his chest, pushing back his open shirt so he can run his palms over the thin cloth of his white undershirt.  

He really wasn't kidding earlier about liking to go fast. One of his restless hands eventually finds one of Erik's own and guides it down, bringing it to rest just over Charles' belt, and then down to his crotch, cupping Erik's hand over his erection. "Oh, the things you're doing to me—" he whispers.

Erik starts to undo Charles' belt, realizing that he's nervous as he fumbles with the buckle, his hands shaking. He kisses Charles again to disguise it, hoping it comes off as anticipation as he slides one hand down into Charles' boxers and takes hold of him. He's not yet fully hard, so Erik sets about getting him there, shifting back a little so he can look down at his moving hand. It's too dark, shadows heavy between them, so he moves further back, making Charles sigh—in disappointment at first but then in encouragement as Erik shifts down to kneel on the floor. 

Erik makes himself comfortable, his face hovering just over Charles' stomach as he tries to remember how this works. He can see much better like this, his face just above Charles' cock, watching the play of his fingers as they move up and down the shaft. There's a little bead of moisture at the tip already, tempting him.

Panting, Charles tugs his sweater over his head like he can't stand the heavy fabric any longer, revealing his flushed chest and some surprisingly well-defined muscles. He hasn't even done anything yet, but Charles is already getting worked up, shameless as he gasps, "Oh, yes, please—I'd very much like—if you'd—your mouth—"

Erik finally obliges him, dipping his head to taste him in one long swipe and making Charles hiss out a very long, very grateful, " _Ooh._ " The bitterness is familiar and yet new, sending a pulse through Erik's own cock as he slides Charles into his mouth and starts to suck.

Erik hasn't been as celibate as his staff assumes, but it's still been a rather long time. The rhythm comes back easily enough, but he'd forgotten how awkward it is to breath and keep up a steady pace while also trying to look sexy at the same time. Thankfully, Charles is a very forgiving audience, as well as a very vocal one, muttering complements and instructions as his fingers help guide Erik's head.

His neck starts to ache from the position, so he shifts backward, leaning further back and dragging Charles after him, his hands sliding under his ass and lifting him up. Charles hisses, and then stops him, hands grabbing Erik's wrists tightly. "No, not like that. Sorry, I can't slide down too far."

Erik lets go of him, Charles' cock slipping out of his mouth as he startles and pulls away.

"No, no," Charles says, sitting up straighter and shifting so his back is flat against the cushions. "It's fine, it's fine. Please, god, do continue."

Erik licks his lips, tasting Charles there, and nods. He leans forward to kiss his stomach in apology, hugging one arm around Charles' waist while his other hand comes up to take his cock again, slick with saliva now. Charles' erection has flagged, going back to only half-hard, so Erik strokes it a few more times, feeling guilty. He tends to manhandle his partners a lot during sex, dragging them this way and that, but clearly he can't do that with Charles. At least not until he knows his limits better.

Charles uses the pause to squirm out of his pants, pushing them further down his thighs and out of Erik's way. "Uh, will you finger me?" he asks, biting his lip in a unconvincing imitation of bashfulness.

Erik shifts—his pants are starting to get uncomfortable—and nods, wetting one of his fingers in response. His mouth feels dry, so he makes sure he has a good bit of saliva before he slides it underneath Charles and takes him in his mouth again.

Charles gasps and pushes back against Erik's finger as soon as he finds the right spot. "Oh, like that—"

Erik glances up, pulling back a little and letting Charles' cock slide over the lips as he talks. "Another?" he asks, taking the opportunity to take a deep breath.

"Mm, no, not too much, it's—ah, I just like bit of steady pressure. Yes, that's it."

Charles is tight around his finger, and Erik can feel every ripple though his body, every quiver as he moves. He quirks his knuckle slightly and keeps pressing forward where Charles wants it, pulsing a little, working him with the pad of his finger. Charles is falling apart under him, starting to buck into Erik's mouth and then grind down on his hand like he can't get enough of either. Erik has to touch himself then, letting go of the base of Charles' cock to get his zipper down and his hand in his pants to relieve some of the pressure. He lets himself squeeze once, twice, and then drags his hand back up to Charles' body, sliding it up over his thighs and coming to rest on his twitching stomach.

Charles is starting to toss his head now, muttering over and over, "I'm—I'm going—I'm—"

Erik pulls away to watch him come, bringing him off with his hand and a few twists of his finger, glancing up to see Charles looking down at him. His eyes are half-closed, and there's a wide smile on his red lips. Erik shifts on the ground, his erection quickly growing uncomfortable again under Charles' hot gaze. Charles has made something of a mess of his hand, so Erik licks his fingers, getting a quick taste and then wiping them off on his undershirt, conscious of the way it makes Charles' smile deepen into a smirk.

Charles is still breathing heavily as he grabs Erik's lapels and pulls him up into a kiss, dragging him back up to the couch. Erik kneels over him and kisses Charles' face as he recovers, feeling light and wonderful suddenly, not sure why he's been avoiding this for so long. He can do this. He's good at this.

"Yes, very good," Charles mutters in response, startling him. Erik leans back in surprise and Charles shakes his head. "Oh, sorry, that wasn't—I'm slipping a little."

"It's okay, you said you don't like… blocking."

"It's just, hard like this. Do you mind? I don't want to pry, I try not to, but it can be so good. Sharing with each other, feeling everything—can I show you?"

"How?" Erik asks. He doesn't want to be wary, but his distrustful instincts are rearing their head.

"Let me, um, hold on—first we need to move somewhere with a bed if I'm going to reciprocate." Charles pushes lightly on Erik's shoulders, getting him on his feet and then leaning on him as he steers Erik down a dark hallway and into a room that must be Charles' bedroom. There are even more books here, stacked on bookshelves and on a desk and all along the floor in rows. Erik discards some of his clothes as he goes, sliding his shirt off his shoulders, and removing his belt.

"Okay," Charles says, pushing Erik over to the bed and guiding him into position. "I think if you lie on your side—there, and I'll just slide down like this…" Charles stretches out next to him, also on his side, but with his head down by Erik's crotch. He pulls a pillow down to put under his head and then finishes what Erik had already started, tugging down his pants and removing them with great efficiency. 

"So," Charles says, glancing up at him. "There's a way I can kind of link us up, to feel what the other's feeling and any projected thoughts. It's only on a surface level, not anything unconscious or that you aren't directly focused on. What do you think? Do you want to feel it?" he asks, one hand running over Erik's side and hip, trailing down to trace the edges of his underwear around his thigh. "When I blow you?"

Erik swallows and nods, grunting a little as Charles pulls down the waistband of his briefs and gets his cock out.

"Oh," Charles says, smiling and biting his lip before glancing back up at Erik. He brings his free hand, the one underneath his side up to his temple, raising an eyebrow and pausing like he wants to be sure Erik is absolutely certain.

"Yes, okay," Erik says, and then Charles is just... there. It's different than with Emma, who is about as subtle as a rock through a window. Charles' senses seem to flow around him and into him, rising up higher and higher until he's engulfed. It's maybe a little like drowning, if drowning was wonderful.

While Erik is busy having a minor epiphany, he can hear Charles thinking in the distance, _Oh, lovely, and so big, I do love a challenge_. His mouth is watering a little and he's thinking about how Erik will feel filling it, and about the slide of smooth skin over his tongue. Charles isn't one to deny himself and he leans in, sucking Erik in and it's—amazingly weird. Like giving himself a blow job with someone else's mouth. Seriously weird. But also one seriously talented mouth.

Charles continues, bobbing his head as he gets most of Erik's cock inside, and Erik feels himself hit the back of his throat at the same instant that he feels Charles brace himself and consciously close off his gag reflex. He keeps going, pushing Erik into that tight hot space and swallowing around him and whoa—that is seriously amazing, how do you even learn to do that?

 _Practice_ , Charles answers. Erik laughs, or thinks he does; it's hard to tell what's happening inside and outside his head right now, or to pay attention to anything but the sinful clench of Charles' throat around his cock as he moves. Erik can feel the strain on Charles, the discomfort just this side of pain and the distant twinge in his back as he thinks _not that I'm not enjoying this, but do you mind if I hurry things along?_

Erik barely has time to agree before he's coming, his whole body jolting, one long taunt string pulled back and released like a bow.

When Erik comes back down again he realizes there have been casualties. There's a distant jangle of metal and muffled cloth hitting the ground outside, and when Erik lifts his head to peer down the hallway he can see his coat lying on the ground next to a twisted pile of ruined metal.

"I hope you didn't like that hat rack," he says, pressing his face into the side of Charles' neck as he shifts around, getting comfortable.

"No, no, I hated it," Charles lies. He flips over on his back and stretches out very flat. "It was terrible, completely unreliable thing. You've done me a favor, really."

"Good," Erik says, hooking his leg over one of Charles' and settling his head down on his shoulder as he closes his eyes.

______________

Emma is sitting in his office chair behind his desk when he arrives the next morning early from the gym, feeling energized and remarkably relaxed. "Well?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows salaciously.

"Well what?" Erik asks, digging in his desk drawer for a fresh tie. Thankfully, he keeps a fresh suit at the gym, as everything he had with him yesterday was creased and wrinkled from lying on the floor all night. Not to mentioned stained.

"How did it go?"

"Good! I managed a six minute mile. Granted, it was under five in my twenties, but that's way better than I've done lately."

Emma's eyebrows drop, going from salacious to annoyed. "Not your morning workout, although the very fact that you went running instead of exercising other muscle groups is telling."

Erik smirks at her. "He had to leave early for a morning class."

Emma breaks out into a manic grin, slapping the table. "Oh, that little sheika."

"Little _what_? _"_

"You know, what's the—shlemiel?"

"A klutz?"

"No—uh…" Emma starts snapping her fingers, looking at him expectantly "Shhhh-ei-tel?"

"I think that's a wig."

"You _know_ , like minx. Gentile minx—"

"I must have left my Emma to Yiddish dictionary at—oh, _shiksa._ That's not really—that's a woman. He'd be a… a shegetz, I guess."

"No, that's the word I want. Shiksa, _that little shiksa_."

"You know, some people actually find that offensive—"

"That dirty little—"

"Will you please get out of my chair?" Erik asks, physically spinning it around and pointing to the door.

______________

The only good thing about Emma's overly developed interest in Erik's love life is that she's so distracted by her gloating that she completely forgets about the finance bill until it's time for the actual vote.

She throws open his door when it's time, not bothering to knock. "There you are, come on, let's go. They're about to start the first reading, floor vote is in thirty minutes."

Erik puts down his pen and looks up at her. "I'm abstaining."

Emma's faces goes through several contortions, none of them particularly attractive. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, gritting her teeth as she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. "The hell you are."

"It's only a formality to send it on to the Finance Committee. They won't even open for debate until after the spring recess."

"That's not the point and you know it. It's a Coalition vote, Erik. If you abstain they'll think you're breaking ranks."

"Well, I guess they'd be right," Erik answers, smiling as Emma's face twists into a grimace.

"Is this what—my god, Munroe already knows, doesn't she? Is this about the fucking Refugee Office?"

"What else would it be about?"

"Damn it, Erik. If you want to get things done in this town that is not the way to go about it."

"If I go out there and vote it implies I'm happy with the finance bill as-is and I have no reservations about supporting it next month."

"No one is happy with the bill as-is, no one is ever happy with the budget. That's the whole point of sending it to the committee for debate!"

"You're not going to badger me out of this one, Emma."

She throws her hands in the air and turns like she's going to leave, but something stops her before she gets to the door. She turns to look back at him, hands on her hips. "You remember what I said when we first started campaigning, right? If you take the Brotherhood independent too early, I'm out."

"I remember."

"Good. I am not bluffing about this, Erik. I will not hang around on a sinking ship. I will leave, and you'll go into campaign season alone, and you'll never get to look down the front of my dress again."

"I understand, Emma. It's fine. I wouldn't want a campaign manager who thinks I'm going to lose anyway."

She presses her lips together, sighing in the way that means she thinks he doesn't get it. "Erik—if you break with the Coalition before an election, if you join the opposition, they will crush you. They will dig up some crusty revolutionary veteran and start holding 'reconciliation dinners' every other week in the Seventh and handing out turkeys and they will _crush_ _you_."

"That's your opinion."

"They are afraid of you, Erik. They've seen the same demographic data we have. They know new parties like the Brotherhood are the future and they are terrified. In ten years we could _be_ the opposition. But not now. You think they even need to run a challenger? If the race looks iffy they won't even bother, they'll just go to the courts and get the Brotherhood declared an illegal mutant-only party under Article 14."

Erik leans back. "They couldn't. I'm sure we could dig up some self-hating human sympathizer somewhere who's part of the volunteer corps, or—"

Emma laughs; a startled noise like he actually managed to surprise her. "You think that would matter? You think the facts mattered when they banned the MLF?"

"That was in the 70s, things are different now."

Emma laughs again and sits down, her eyes wide with disbelief. "I don't understand how you can be so cynical about everything else, and yet here, in the god damned National Assembly—about _politics_ —you turn into a naive child. Mr. Lehnsherr Goes to Assembly Hill."

He leans forward across his desk, getting into her face. "Yes you do. It's because I know we're better than that. Mutants are better than that."

Emma snorts, but doesn't say anything. Erik gets up and takes his suit jacket off the back of his chair, trying to hide the fact that his hands are shaking, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He steps around Emma as he walks to the door.

"Where are you going?" she asks, turning in her seat.

"To the floor."

"To vote?" she asks, her voice rising as he opens the door and steps out into the hall.

"I haven't decided yet."

______________

Emma follows him out of the office and down the hallway to the tunnel that connects the deputy offices to the actual Assembly building. Erik can hear her heels clacking behind him, echoing loudly in the quietness of the tunnel as she grumbles under her breath. "You could have worked for anyone, found someone nice, someone pliable. But nooooo, why go the easy route you there's this stupid asshole right over here? I like Lehnsherr, I think he's really going places, he has so much _potential._ "

Emma quiets down as they start to pass other deputies and staffers, most of the traffic heading uphill toward the main chamber.

They emerge blinking into the modernist austerity of the Assembly Hall, neat little desks lined up in concentric circles around the main podium where the Speaker is already standing, calling out names with great formality. The deputies do roll call in order of seniority, so Erik has a while to wait. He also has a seat right next to McCoy, much to his annoyance.

"I can't stand the suspense," Emma mutters as he sits down. "I'm going over to watch Adler's reaction when they call your name."

Erik waves her away with relief, sitting back in his chair as the Speaker continues working down the list of names, the electronic board on the wall above him tallying up the largely symbolic vote. Getting everyone into their chairs for a vote is essentially a show of power, proof that the Coalition government can still muster a majority and pass legislation whenever they like. Erik is not considering breaking ranks lightly, and he knows no one here is going to give him the benefit of the doubt if he goes through with it.  

McCoy shifts in his seat next to him, looking bored. "Deputy Lehnsherr," he says, nodding at Erik.

"McCoy," Erik says, not sure why he wants to exchange pleasantries. 

McCoy shakes his head a little, not looking at Erik, but glancing down the aisle toward the front of the hall where the ministers are sitting. "I honestly don't understand it."

"Understand what?" Erik asks, his hostility starting to leech into his tone.

"Why you keep her around. How you can even stand to look at her."

Erik turns more toward McCoy, and then realizes he's looking at Emma, standing on the far wall with a knot of other deputies' aids.

"If it was me…" McCoy continues.

"Well, it's not you."

McCoy shakes his head. "How can you know she hasn't _done_ something to you—to your mind."

Erik gives him what he hopes is an innocently quizzical look. "She has done things to me. Terrible things."

He swallows. "I meant—how do you know she isn't doing anything to you right now."

"I don't. But I also trust her."

He shakes his head again. "I guess that's the part I don't understand. She shouldn't even be here. They never should have let her past customs."

"If Genosha blocked every mutant with a rap sheet from entering we'd only get a handful of new immigrants a year."

"Maybe. But then maybe some things shouldn't be forgiven."

Erik doesn't have anything to say to that—mainly because he can't refute his point—but they're getting closer to his name so he uses it as an excuse to turn away from McCoy and face the speaker again.

"Deputy Lehnsherr," he calls, finally getting to Erik's place on the list.

Technically, they have little voting buttons on their desks that they can use to submit their votes electronically, but Erik is never one to pass up an opportunity to make a public spectacle of himself.

He rises from his chair, standing so people turn to look his way and some of the background chatter dies down. "I abstain," he announces, speaking loudly enough to be heard all the way up in the viewing balcony.

Erik turns to go, not sparring a glance back at McCoy. He walks out to the sound of hushed muttering behind him.

Emma comes to the back of the hall to wait for him and walks behind him to the elevator like a resentful white shadow. She waits until the doors shut and they're alone before saying, "I hope you're proud of yourself."

"You should know better than to tell me what to do. Did you see the PM's face?"

"Yes. She didn't look surprised, but then she never does."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to have too many explain-y author's notes because I think world building should stand on its own, but I'm not sure I'll be able to fit this bit in later and I'm sure it's confusing. Article 14 of the Genoshan constitution bans both human-only and mutant-only extremist political groups. It was used by the post-revolutionary government to crackdown on the armed mutant militias and anti-human reprisals that were still happening all over the island. Because it's hard to govern when your citizens keep indiscriminately slaughtering one another. Later, it was used to censor grassroots organizations that threatened the military dictatorship's power.
> 
> Okay, from now on I'll try to save the lengthy exposition for the fic itself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [ClawfootTub](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ClawfootTub/pseuds/ClawfootTub) for help betaing!

Emma is sitting in his office waiting for him when Erik arrives.

"I thought you weren't working for me anymore," he says.

"I never could resist a good car crash." She's wearing one of her shortest skirts, a tight mini that matches perfectly with her crisp white jacket. It's a sure sign that she's still mad at him; she always wears her most inappropriate outfits when she wants to get on his nerves.

Erik laughs a little, chuckling in spite of himself. "Emma, you can't just—I have to know, are you on board or not? I can't have you hanging around gawking at the carnage. However much fun that might be for you."

She presses her lips together. "I'm on board, damn it. This is still salvageable, Erik. You've got to at least let me _try._ "

"What if I don't want to try? Maybe this is for the best."

"Then I'll be very disappointed in you for taking the easy way out."

"Well, maybe I'm not the man you think I am. Have you thought of that?" he asks, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the door. He sits down, taking one of the chairs next to Emma instead of sitting at his desk. "Maybe this whole… run was a bad idea. I was never really deputy material."

"You're wrong. You're a political animal, however much you might hate it. That's what makes you so good at it."

"Thank you?"

"I have terms."

"I don't know that you're in the position to be negotiating."

"That's never stopped me before. If I stay, you _have_ to tell me what you're planning, Erik. None of this blindsiding me at the last minute. I don't care if you ignore my advice, but you have to at least give me the opportunity to talk you out of your dumbass ideas."

Erik sighs. "Fine. I promise I'll give you more of a heads up next time I decided to torpedo my chances of reelection."

"That's all I'm asking. Because, Erik, the thing is—this is a gamble, a huge one, but if you can pull it off, if we can get them to concede on OAR's funding somehow and still keep you in the game…" she breaks out into a smile so broad it's approaching maniacal. "You'll be untouchable."

Erik can't help smiling back at her. "Oh, is that all we have to do? Well, let's get to work then."

Emma nods once and gets to her feet, all business now that they've sorted out where they stand with one another.  "I called Azazel and Salvadore in for an emergency meeting."

Erik laughs. "You really think the Brotherhood is going to talk me into being more reasonable? They'll probably be pleased."

"I guess we'll find out. They'll be here in an hour, so get ready. I'll brief them first and then we can all do the postmortem together."

"Meaning of my career?" Erik asks as she turns to leave, but she ignores him. "Emma," Erik adds, stopping her before she leaves. "Thanks for sticking around."

She rolls her eyes at him and closes the door behind her.

______________

Azazel and Angel pop in right on time, both of them looking mildly perturbed and not totally sure why they're here.

Erik shakes their hands, thanking them for coming and getting a lazy laugh from Angel and a slap on the back from Azazel. Erik has missed both of them. He hasn't seen them very much since the end of the campaign, when they both returned to their day-jobs and more low-key Brotherhood duties. Angel is one of their main organizers, keeping the various party cells engaged and active in Brotherhood activities, while Azazel had been on the ballot at the same time as Erik. He'd run in the neighboring Ninth Ward, but hadn't been returned, hindered by his accent and his red skin. There's still a shockingly limited number of deputies with visible mutations in the Assembly. McCoy is something of a trailblazer in that regard.

"Shall we?" Emma asks, and escorts them into their tiny conference room. They sit at the table there, Erik and Emma on one side, Angel and Azazel on the other.

"Firstly," Azazel says. "Is this really such a big deal? We're talking about a minor procedural vote, here, right?"

"Yeah," Angel puts in. "Come on, there hasn't even been anything in the papers about it."

"It's a very big deal," Emma answers. "The _procedure_ is that all Coalition members vote when the Speaker says 'jump.' If they don't, it undermines the League's entire control structure. Erik is in a very vulnerable position here. He's a one-term deputy with no other Brotherhood members to back him up, and it's extremely unlikely that any of the other third-party deputies would want to risk their Coalition status by joining him. He's going to be a target now. Next they'll start freezing him out, blocking any motions he attempts no matter how minor."

"It's already started," Erik explains. "McCoy is purposefully obstructing the teleportation bill because I was one of the deputies who first introduced it."

Emma frowns at him. "Are you sure?"

"He mentioned talking to Monroe. About me."

Emma groans and looks up at the ceiling while Azazel leans forward, his tail floating up behind him like an angry cobra. "That is absurd. It's a good bill, what does it matter if you're at odds with them over some other issue?"

"They have to make an example of him," Emma explains. "The Coalition is stretched too thin. Over one-third of its members are semi-independents without full League membership."

"Well, in that case, who cares?" Angel asks. "I say we turn their obstruction into an election issue, make it a referendum on the League itself. It's time we started hitting where it hurts."

"It's too early for that," Emma says. "We need more momentum. Maybe next cycle, but not now."

"It's always too early for you," Angel snaps. She leans across the table toward Erik, purposefully turning her shoulder toward Emma, blocking her out. "Erik, if this is what you want to do, then let's do it. Forget her, we don't _need_ her. We never have. It's time you started standing up for yourself and really representing what the Brotherhood believes in."

Emma sniffs at this, rolling her eyes, while Erik sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He might be a radical maverick inside of the Assembly, but among the Brotherhood he's seen as something of a sellout; an activist who turned into a League lapdog as soon as he got elected. At least in some people's eyes.

Azazel strikes a more conciliatory tone. "No offense to you, Ms. Frost, you've been… a great help. We needed someone with your insider perspective and knowledge of the Assembly at first, but now…"

"We've had more than enough of this tip-toeing around, baby-steps bullshit," Angel says, hitting the table with her fist.

Emma coughs in a way that makes it obvious she's hiding a laugh. "Erik and I have already had this discussion. If he wants to go his own way, that's fine. But if you want the Brotherhood to gain any real power then you need _me_ , and you need to do things _my way._ "

Angel huffs and starts to stand up, pushing back her chair. Erik reaches out to grab her wrist, stopping her from leaving. "Emma's right, Angel. This might have been a mistake. I can make all the fiery speeches I want, I can get up there and read the Brotherhood Oath and demand action, but what good am I if I can't get anything done? What good is it if I get thrown out of the Assembly on my ass after one term?"

She shakes her head. "Maybe Wyngarde was right. Maybe we never should have tried to go legitimate in the first place. It's changed you, Erik, and not for the better. You never would have gone along with this shit three years ago." She turns to go, her wings unfurling in an angry flutter, and stomps out of the conference room.

Azazel sighs. "She's only angry, she'll calm down in a bit."

"I know," Erik says. "But do you think she's right?"

He frowns. "I don't… I don't know. Sometimes I think I was the lucky one. I still get to sit back and play armchair deputy while you make all the hard decision." He shakes his head. "In the end, Erik, it's your decision whether you strike out on your own or try to make nice with the League again. You represent the Brotherhood, but you also have the rest of your Ward to think of. And in the end, it's about you, not what I think, or anyone else." Azazel's eyes break away to glance at Emma then before returning to Erik's own. "It all comes down to you, and what you can sleep with at night."

Erik smiles. "You've always been good at cutting through the gristle to get to the real heart of things."

"Teleporter," he says, returning Erik's smile with a lopsided grin he remembers from days on the campaign trail. "We like to skip right to the point without all that silly wandering around the rest of you do."

"Well, this is touching," Emma says. "But we have other business to deal with today. I trust you and Angel will spread the word among the Brotherhood? We may need some kind of public action soon, depending on how this all shakes out."

"Of course, we'll stay in touch." Azazel shakes Erik's hand again and then nods to Emma, disappearing in a puff of smoke an instant later.

______________

Erik has a lot to think about after Azazel leaves, retreating to his office to weigh his options. Unfortunately, Darwin comes along to pile yet more things on his plate, knocking tentatively on his doorframe and giving him an apologetic look.

"Hey, this might not be the best time, but I have that report you wanted," he says, waving the pages in the air to prove it.

"Which one?"

"The, uh, sensitive one?" Oh, Erik had almost forgotten about that, what with everything that had happened yesterday. Somehow coming out publicly no longer seems like such a huge deal anymore.

"That was fast, good," Erik says, waving him in. He needs to be thinking ahead to the election even more now, keep track of every factor that might change the outcome. 

Darwin shuts the door behind him." I might have anticipated this a bit and had some of the data ready to go. Okay, first off, take a look at this." He lays out a multicolored chart on Erik's desk, a graph of opinion numbers over time. "This shows support for various gay issues among Genoshan voters across several demographics. The orange is general support for gay rights, the green is for hate crimes legislation, and the fuchsia is gay marriage. All very high and highly progressive."

"Now _this_ ," he continues, flopping another chart printed on clear plastic down over top of the previous one. "This is another version of the same showing support in Ward Seven." Darwin lifts the page and flips back and forth between the two charts to show how the tide of colors rises across the board. "Okay, so the interesting part is that I then used this information to extrapolate and build a predictive model for how the Ward would respond if you went out and announced 'I'm gay' tomorrow."

"First off, I'm not. Probably. And secondly I don't think I'll be—"

"Ssh, it's only a hypothetical. I used data from when other politicians and public figures have come out, attempting to adjust for changing times and our slightly different demographics." He lays out this new chart, which is so complicated Erik can hardly make heads or tails of it.

"Is this in _three_ dimensions?"

"Yes, because it is a very complex model. Okay, see the blue line? That's the important part. That shows your current approval levels, and the red is my predicted adjustment to that base level support." The two lines jump up and down, crossing paths and reversing places with each other repeatedly in such a way that it is impossible to tell the net result.

"So…?"

"I'm predicting anywhere from no change to a five point improvement as people rally round to support you. There are some losses, but the gains more than make up for them. Incidentally, I know you said you don't want to go making any announcements, but it's something to consider. I mean, if you and Emma are looking for some kind of distraction, or for a way to make your political opponents seems more… unreasonable."

"Huh, good point," Erik says, although he's not sure he's comfortable using his sexuality so cynically. "I'll keep it in mind. Well, thanks. That's comforting, I guess. What about long-term changes?"

"I can't predict that reliably. It's too tied up in your actual legislative activity and uncontrollable factors like the economy and foreign politics. But, basically, it supports what I said before. It will hurt you in some areas but help you in plenty of others. So, no excuses, whether you want to come out or not, it all comes down to you, not some hypothetical worse-case scenario."

"It always come down to me," Erik points out, wondering if Darwin has been talking to Azazel. Darwin nods, and starts to open his mouth to say something else, but at that moment the door slams open, Emma bursting inside in a flurry of white.

"Drop _everything_ ," she says, snatching Erik's suit jacket down from the hook behind the door. "The Prime Minister wants to see you."

"What?" Erik asks, jumping up and sticking one of his arms through the jacket as she holds it out for him.

"The Cabinet was having a meeting and someone brought up the Brotherhood and she apparently turned to one of her aids and said, 'I'll be seeing Deputy Lehnsherr as soon as this is over.'"

"Shit, I can't believe this went so high so quickly."

"I told you they were taking this seriously. Now hurry up, making her wait is not going to help."

"Fuck, do I look okay?"

"No, ugh, what is that awful purple tie? Were you drunk when you picked that out? Darwin, get me one of the boring ones," she says, turning up his collar and yanking off the offending item. "But not _too_ boring."

Darwin starts to dig through his tie drawer while Emma grabs the lint roller from his desk and starts running it over his shoulders, making him turn in place so she can reach his back.

"Wait, forget my tie," Erik says, holding up his arms as she does the sides of his jacket. "What the fuck am I going to _say_? What if she asks if I'm still part of the Coalition?"

"Are you?" Emma asks and Erik shrugs.

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet!"

She rolls her eyes, her hands coming up to smooth back his hair, making sure every strand is in place. "So stall then. Be apologetic, but make no promises. This is our chance to learn how they're going to play this thing. See what you can find out." Darwin waves a tie at her, getting her attention. "No, not that one," she says. "He's wearing _pinstripes_ for god's sake, he already looks like he's nine feet tall." 

"You always say my height makes me seem more stately," Erik points out.

"It does, but Adler is 5'3'' and senior politicians resent it when their inferiors tower over them."

"She's not that kind of politician," Erik says, and Emma rolls her eyes at him again.

"Do me a favor and try not to let your creepy crush on her show too much. Believe me, it's not going to help anything."

"It's not a _crush_ , I simply appreciate the things she's accomplished over her long and storied career, as well as her integrity as both a mutant and a—"

"Good god, shut up and get out of here. She'll be expecting you any second now. They're in the Emancipation conference room."

Erik sprints through half of the Assembly, dodging like a speedster around couriers and interns and zipping right up the middle of a huge school group in matching t-shirts. He nearly knocks a briefcase out of a staffer's hands, but manages to catch it in midair by the metal fastenings, pausing just long enough to be sure that the man has a grip on the handle before hurrying on. He arrives just as the cabinet is wrapping up their meeting, the ministers making small talk and packing up their briefcases. He taps one of Adler's aids on the shoulder and she nods at him to wait in the anteroom. Normally he'd be resentful about being made to wait while the bigwigs finish talking, but it's a relief to have a few minutes to catch his breath. He double-checks his hair in the glass door of the china cabinet in the corner.

He can hear the murmur of voices coming from the conference room, occasionally picking out Madam Adler's firm tones. She had been the head of the League for nearly twenty-five years now, taking over from the last powerless Prime Minister and helping Genosha transition from military rule to a true civilian government. It wasn't an easy period, but she kept the country from sliding into autocracy again, running the ruling League of Reconciliation and keeping intact the tentative coalition it formed with the other mutant parties. They were a fractious lot, but she kept the government functioning through sheer force of will and never bowed to outside pressure from the military. "Reconciliation" was her term, chosen to show how far they had come after the bloodbath that was the Genoshan War of Liberation.

Erik likes Adler a lot, mostly for very personal reasons. She was directly responsible for the UN-brokered deal that allowed for the mass immigration of Shaw's victims to Genosha. At the time, Erik hadn't understood the backstage machinations it had required or all the favors that had to be traded to other countries in order to arrange their transport; he was just deeply grateful to have somewhere safe to go. For the first time in his life he was surrounded by nothing but other mutants, and no one either feared him or wanted to control him. It hadn't been easy, and he'd struggled a lot in those first years, but the day he landed in Hammer Bay was still one of the happiest of his life. Madam Adler had been on the tarmac when he got off the plane, there to welcome the first wave of arrivals in a private ceremony. He still remembers vividly when she took his hand as he stepped down and said, "From you, I will expect great things." Today, as a politician, he understands the miracle Adler had achieved that day, and it has earned her his undying loyalty, even if he doesn't always agree with her decisions these days.

He still has a lot of respect for Adler, but he also thinks that twenty-five years is far too long for one party to hold power, 'conciliators' or not. Mutants like knowing that a precog is in charge—it's something of a superstition, one that has helped her maintain her hold on the premiership. But Adler can't see _everything_ coming, and she's failed to anticipate plenty of minor crises in her tenure. Many of the League members were war heroes or former rebel generals, yet they'd grown timid after so long as part of the establishment. By all rights, their island nation should be a superpower by now, but instead it's a pariah state; routinely pushed around by the UN whenever the United States starts making noise about their threat to international security.

Genosha had completely rewritten the arms race when its small, ragtag group of former mutant slaves easily overran the old regime's modern military. In Erik's opinion, which he regularly states at Brotherhood rallies and sometimes on the floor of the National Assembly, they have nothing to fear from the UN and any "peacekeeping" forces it might send. Let them come, let them invade and remember what it's like to battle mutants in the streets, or try to occupy a nation that has armed WMDs for citizens. Erik and his tiny political staff could probably take back the capital alone without any reinforcements. Of course, these days, nearly every human government has its own secret mutant paramilitary groups and black ops units, most of which are supplied by forced conscription. But no country has mutants in the concentrations that Genosha does.

Despite strict emigration quotas and the extreme risk of capture, thousands of mutants still make the dangerous journey every year and find their way to Genosha's shores in smuggling ships and makeshift rafts. Officially, they can do nothing to support or encourage these desperate journeys—not without violating international law and jeopardizing their tense stalemate with the human world—but their constitution grants automatic citizenship to anyone with an X-gene, and Genosha does not extradite its citizens. The more repressive the human governments become, the more Genosha benefits as the only free, mutant-ruled nation in the world.

Erik spends nearly twenty minutes in the anteroom, which gives him a lot of time to admire the larger-than-life mural on the west wall commemorating the Battle of Crescent Bay. The artist had embellished the scene with a few rhetorical flourishes, or at least Erik assumes that the spirit of Africa and the personification of Liberty did not actually show up after the battle to bless the troops and flash their bare breasts.

Finally, one of the assistants notices that Erik is still waiting. "Sorry, just another minute," he says. "I'll let her know you're here."

Erik nods, strongly suspecting that she already knows, but then the door opens wide enough for him to see her inside, seated at the head of the table. He pushes past the assistant into the room. "You were looking for me, Prime Minister?"

Adler looks at him with her blind eyes and smiles, looking very regal and grandmotherly, her white hair set off by her powder-blue suit. She has the mutant 'M' tattooed over her right eye, the mark of a former slave, her hair parted proudly so no one can miss it. "Oh, Deputy Lehnsherr, good." She nods to the remaining cabinet members, dismissing them. "Carry on, I'll catch up with you later."

Erik tries to hide his surprise as the last ministers exit, leaving him alone in the room with Adler. She stands and shakes Erik's hand before motioning him to a seat and taking her place again, much to Erik's relief. He feels absurdly tall next to her, just as Emma predicted, but at least sitting down they're closer to the same level.

"Now, I'm sorry to have someone fetch you like an errant schoolboy, but I wanted to get this finance business sorted before it escalates into something more serious."

"It's no bother, Madam Adler," Erik says, imagining Emma wincing at his somewhat fawning tone.

She smiles a little, shaking her head. "Let's be plain about this, I want to be frank." Erik nods, hoping she can't sense how he's starting to sweat. "As I'm sure you're aware, the League's control has been slipping in recent years and this budget is going to be a tight one. Every vote counts from _every_ supposed Coalition member."

Erik nods, not trusting himself to say anything in response.

"Now, this isn't precisely a surprise, you do have something of a history with obstruction, but I am _not_ pleased. If you have issue with the bill, there are constructive ways to deal with it, and then there are unconstructive ways. I would much prefer the former."

Erik nods, giving her a thin smile. "I assure you, I would as well. No one wants us to get hung up in a deadlocked limbo again like last year. I have some concerns about a few of the line items, but the bill is still in process. I'm sure it will all be cleared up in time for the final vote."

"Which items specifically?" Adler asks, leaning forward. He has the disturbing sense that she's tracing invisible lines of probability in the air. Well, this is his chance to get a read on her, see how likely he is to get a 'constructive' response.

"As it stands, OAR's budget has been slashed 1.3 million. That's a four percent cut from last year."

She tilts her head. "It's slightly more than some other departments, I'll give you that, but it doesn't seem like something worth risking your Coalition membership over."

"The other departments aren't as criminally underfunded and understaffed as OAR."

She presses her lips together. "The kind of funding you've been advocating will be an extremely hard sell for many League members. The demographics are making them nervous. In another ten years immigrants will make up the majority in Genosha. Some people feel like they're being marginalized in their own country."

" _Some people_ need to keep in mind that we are all mutants working together for the same goals. Assisting new refugees helps raise up all Genoshans." He's on more comfortable ground now, hitting familiar notes like a well-rehearsed musician. "We are all stronger together, and the more mutants we have, the better."

"A beautiful sentiment, Deputy, but I've heard your stump speech already. I even agree, in principle." She smiles and pauses a moment, reaching out to touch his hand, her fingers unerring despite her blindness. "Thank you for being straightforward with me. It's easy to get caught up in tactics and convoluted plotting here, but I think we're all at our best when we're being honest."

The hair on the back of Erik's neck stands up and suddenly he knows she's really _looking_ at him then, seeing his possible futures laid out in front of her. The moment stretches and then she clears her throat, rising to her feet. "In any event—I'm glad we had this discussion. I understand where you stand now, and that's all I need to know."

Erik rises with her, shaking off the odd shiver traveling up his spine. He wants to ask what she's going to do—concede and restore some of OAR's funding, or crush him like an insect beneath the heel of her sensible pumps?—but he knows he wouldn't get a straight answer even if he did. "Of course, Madam, I greatly appreciate the opportunity to discuss this with you directly."

"Thank you, and I've always appreciated your candor and sincerity." They haven't settled anything, but Erik can't help glowing a bit at her praise. He gets the sense that she really does _like him_ , even if he's being an irritation right now.

Adler thanks him again as she walks him to the door, exchanging some last pleasantries. She pauses in the anteroom, touching his sleeve and continuing in a light tone. "Oh, but, Deputy? Try to keep in mind that this is a legislature, not a school yard. There's no need to be bullying Hank over the danishes and coffee."

Erik tries to smile, managing a convulsive twitch. Oh, he's Deputy Lehnsherr, but McCoy is _Hank?_ Bastard. He walks out backwards, bowing a bit in an effort not to look like a giant backing away from her.

______________

When Erik gets back to the office, he and Emma argue some more, going over every detail of his meeting with Adler while Darwin plays referee. Erik is still no closer to making a decision than he was that morning. If Adler meets him in the middle, makes at least a token gesture of support to OAR, he might consider backing down. But then again, maybe he won't. Maybe it's finally time to stick to his guns and see if he can survive the resulting shootout.  

He decides he needs some space, making his excuses and heading out for the day. He ends up walking aimlessly until he finds himself surrounded by college bars and slightly dilapidated row houses, students with backpacks and Gen U hoodies passing him on the street. He'd walked straight into Charles' neighborhood without even noticing it. Erik smiles to himself and decides to call. He might seem overeager, but whatever. He _is_ overeager, and he needs the distraction.

The phone rings four times, and Erik is half expecting it to go voicemail when Charles picks up.

"Hello?" he asks, sounding a little disoriented, like Erik woke him from a nap.

"Hey," Erik says, clearing his throat a little. "Sorry, are you busy?"

"Oh, hi, Erik," Charles says. "Uh, no. Not busy. But I'm not really great company right now. I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I didn't go into work today."

"Are you sick?" Erik asks. "Can I bring you something?"

"Oh, no. It's not anything new, I'm just having one of my bad days." His voice shifts, starting to sound teasing. "I might have, um, overextended myself the other day."

Erik coughs. "Well, now I feel guilty so you _have_ to let me come over. I'll make you dinner as an apology, what do you think?"

"Oh, that's really not—"

"Please?"

There's a long pause, and then he hears Charles let out a breath. "Okay, just keep in mind I might not have much energy for conversation."

Erik finds a grocery store on the corner and picks up some provisions. He's not exactly the greatest cook, but he can at least manage some basic chicken soup.

He juggles the brown paper grocery bag when he arrives at Charles' condo, shifting it to one arm so he can knock on the door. "It's open!" Charles calls, shouting from somewhere inside.

Erik finds him lying flat on his back in the living room, stretched out with his arm over his eyes and the TV tuned to some GBC crime drama.

"Are you okay?" Erik asks, setting his bag down and kneeling next to him on the floor.

"Hm?" Charles asks, lifting his arm. "Oh, yes! Sorry, sometimes it just feels good to lie on the floor. Nice and flat, you know?"

"Oh, I see." He sits down cross-legged. "How are you feeling?"

"Hm," Charles raises his hands and scrubs his face, rubbing over his eyes. He's wearing jeans and a loose long-sleeved shirt, his face looking worn and tired. "Not great. I'm actually really glad you came over. When I'm like this normally it's all I can manage just to order takeout. And I am so sick of pad thai and pizza."

Erik smiles and reaches into the grocery bag, pulling out the box of premade matzah ball mix he picked up at the store. "How does chicken soup with dumplings sound?"

"Oh my god, amazing. Hold on." Charles sits up carefully, rolling his torso upward in one long movement and then taking a deep breath. He puts his hands behind him on his lower back and stretches a little, twisting to one side and then to the other. "The problem with the floor is that while it feels good once I get down here, eventually I have to get back up again. Ugh."

"You don't have to," Erik says, going into a crouch. "I came over to cook for you, remember?"

"Don't be silly," Charles says. He motions for Erik to give him a hand and then uses it to pull himself up to his feet, groaning a bit. "You don't know where anything is in my kitchen. And I'm perfectly capable of standing in one place and chopping some vegetables."

Charles puts a hand on the wall as he leads the way, catching strategically placed pieces of furniture as he goes and leaning heavily on a bookshelf. Erik wants to ask where his cane is, but bites his tongue in case it's a sore point.

Charles shows him where the cutting boards and pots are stowed while Erik lays out the various ingredients. There isn't a ton of counter space, but Charles' kitchen is relatively new, with shiny stainless steel appliances. When Erik opens the refrigerator to look for eggs he finds several styrofoam takeout containers, an empty carton of orange juice, and a jar of pickles. He finally locates a carton of eggs hidden in the empty vegetable drawer. "You weren't kidding about the take out."

Charles laughs. "I'm afraid I still live like a grad student most of the time. Real homemade soup will be a nice change of pace."

"It's my mother's recipe," Erik says, looking away as he hands Charles some celery and carrots to get started on. "So you'd best enjoy it."

"Mmm, well now I'm excited," Charles answers, sitting at the table to start chopping.

"We're making the shortcut version. The real recipe takes two hours and a whole chicken."

Charles laughs. "Then I'm glad we don't have to wait that long, I'm already getting hungry."

They make a good team, Charles preparing the vegetables while Erik cuts up the cooked chicken he bought at the store. Once he has the broth started, he uses his hands to stir up the eggs and matzah mix and then sticks it in the fridge to cool, making a mess of himself in the process.

"Do you keep kosher?" Charles asks, getting up to dump the last of the celery in the broth. "I haven't really been paying attention."

"Erm, I make an effort, but I'm not that strict about it. It's not exactly easy to buy kosher in Genosha."

"Okay, so no pork, no mixed meat and dairy… what am I forgetting?"

"No shellfish, and, uh, that's about it. I ignore most of the minor rules like the one about non-kosher wine."

"What counts as shellfish? Like shrimp?"

"Like basically everything that's not a fish with scales."

"Good. I hate shrimp. All those little legs." He suppresses a shudder.

Once Erik judges that enough time has passed, he starts another pot of water boiling and he takes the batter back out of the fridge. Charles watches as he starts rolling the matzah balls, dropping them carefully in the boiling water to avoid splashing himself. Charles flexes his hand as he sits, rotating his wrist and looking at it with a frown.

"Is your hand bothering you?" Erik asks.

"I've been having a lot of nerve pain lately," he explains, starting a massage, digging his thumb into his palm. "I've always had some, but it's been getting worse. It's the main reason I stayed home. I took some pain meds, but the side effects are bad. They make me tired and mess with my equilibrium, which isn't great when you already have walking issues." He flexes his hand a few more times.

"Does that help?"

"Not really, but it makes me feel like I'm doing something. This hand is always giving me trouble in general. And to think I used to be right-handed."

"Ugh, that's rough," Erik says, going to rinse off his hands. Now there isn't much left to do but stir the pots and wait for everything to finish cooking.

"Indeed. So don't make fun of my handwriting when you see it, okay? I know it's completely illegible."

"I promise," Erik says, smiling. "Do you have a pot holder?"

"I think there's one under the mail there," Charles says, pointing to his microwave. Erik shifts the letters and magazines aside, finding a pot holder patterned with red bell peppers underneath. He can't help but notice the logo on the top envelope as he puts Charles' mail back. "Why are you getting letters from the Genoshan Council for Human Rights? Please tell me you don't support those assholes."

"Hm? Oh, no. I've never actually given them money, but I got on the mailing list somehow. Probably through the Human-Mutant Alliance."

Erik makes a face, unable to stop himself. "You can't be serious."

Charles laughs. "Not a fan?"

"Why are you wasting your time on that kind of thing when there are actual serious issues facing mutantkind?"

Charles raises his eyebrows, still rubbing his hand. "I didn't realize there was a limit to the number of political causes one was allowed to espouse. And I don't think it's a waste of time, I think it's a very important issue that most Genoshans would rather ignore than face up to."

Erik crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. "Most Genoshans have more important things to worry about than a few thousand bigoted, inbred humans on the south side of the island."

"It's more than a few thousand, and there are humans all over the island, even here in Hammer Bay. That's the whole point. There will always be a human minority in Genosha, whether we like it or not. We have to find a way to live and work with them, maybe even govern together some day."

"Those people don't _want_ us to govern them. That's the whole point of the autonomous settlement."

"That is not a long term solution and you know it," Charles says, leaning forward and starting to gesture as he talks, getting agitated. "Look at the Courtland Downs riot. It's a recipe for further resentment, community isolation and, god help us, pogroms."

"Courtland was not a _pogrom_ —"

"What would you call it when a majority group storms into a largely minority community and tries to burn it to the ground?"

"In that case? Well-deserved retribution."

Charles makes a noise of disgust and shakes his head.

"Do you think these people _like_ you Charles?" Erik asks, knowing he's starting to sound bullying, but not able to let it go. He starts to stir the dumplings again, churning them too quickly and breaking a few in the process. "Do you think they appreciate your _advocacy_? Half of them are direct descendants of the slave-holding elite. They're dreaming of a day when they can _own_ you again. You're chattel to them, a thing. Worse than that, a monster!"

Charles clears his throat, his face cold. "A lot of people consider me a monster, but that doesn't mean I have to act like one."

Erik takes a deep breath and puts down the spoon. He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, waiting until he feels calmer before looking back at Charles. "What was that you said about not having much energy for conversation?"

Charles cracks a smile, one side of his mouth lifting. "Yes, that did apply to arguing as well."

"Sorry."

"Also, 'mutantkind'? Please tell me you're not the kind of person who says things like 'as much as mutantly possible'?"

Erik laughs. "I might have used 'mutantity' once or twice, but then Emma threatened to hurt me if I kept it up."

Charles shakes his head and gets to his feet. "How about some wine? I can only handle one glass because of my medication, but I could really use some right now."

"Me too," Erik says, turning back to his soup as Charles goes into the dining area to look at the wine rack there. The dumplings are looking good now, most of them floating aside from the few casualties he destroyed earlier. He starts to shift them into the broth, spooning them over one-by-one.  

 _Pinot Noir, do you think?_ Charles asks from the other room, projecting an image of the bottle in his hand into Erik's head.

It's innocuous, and some part of Erik realizes that, but the rest of him is suddenly very cold. He's immobilized on a hospital bed, the straps rubbing his wrists raw, while a distant mind looks in on his own. _Not thinking about escape were we, darling? No, no, believe me, it's not worth the trouble. Now… schlaf gut und träum süss…_

He doesn't notice the pain right away, only that he's dropped the spoon, grabbing the side of the pot as he fumbles for it. He jumps back when he realizes what he's done, managing to splash the water in the process and burn himself even worse, cursing as he holds out his hand.

Charles clatters into the kitchen, coming around the corner with his hand on the wall and a bottle under one arm. He hisses when he sees Erik's hand. "Run it under some water, I'll get a bandage."

Erik follows his instructions, inspecting the wound as he holds it under the tap. The side of his palm is red, and there are several bad spots on the back of his hand where he got splashed. One of them is even starting to swell up into a blister.

Charles comes back with a first aid kit and helps Erik cover the worst spots with bandaids and gauze, grimacing at the reddened skin.

"I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you," Erik says, trying to keep his tone light. 

Charles shakes his head, not looking up at him. "I'm sorry. Was it because I was out of the room?"

Erik shrugs. "No, I just wasn't expecting it."

"Okay," Charles says, still looking down. He's finished applying the bandages, but he doesn't let go, still holding Erik's hand loosely in his lap. "So clearly we need some kind of signal."

"Hm?"

"I think a gesture works best," he explains, looking up. "Then you can use it in public without it being too obvious. Some sign so I know when it's okay to project thoughts or touch your mind."

Erik pulls a face. "I don't think that's necessary."

"I do. Look, what if you just do—" he raises his hand to his temple, fingers not quite touching his forehead.

"Ehhhhh."

 "Well, what do you and Emma use?"

"We don't?" Erik says, pulling his hand away from Charles' grasp and examining it. His palm is already feeling better, but the blister is going to be an annoyance for a few days. 

"Wait—you have a history of abuse and yet you haven’t set any boundaries with each other? That seems… really unhealthy."

"Hey, we have _great_ boundaries. We have this coping strategy where we never talk about anything resembling feelings."

"So, super healthy then."

Erik raises his undamaged hand, holding up two fingers like a closed peace sign. "How about this then? I'll either hold it near my head or do it more subtly if I don't want anyone else to notice."

"Perfect," Charles says, smiling. "And I promise I won't ever surprise you like that again. Only with permission first."

"Great. Now do you want to have some soup? I think it's about to boil over." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to both ClawfootTub and spicedpiano for doing beta duty! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Charles is already awake when Erik rolls over. He has one eye open, lying on his side and peering over the top of the sheets at Erik as he turns to set his head on Charles' pillow. Up close Erik can see the creases pressed into his face and the soft sheen of night sweat over his forehead. "Morning."

"Hey," Charles says, sounding a little froggy.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long, just dozing. Did you sleep well?"

Erik shrugs. He'd lain awake for several hours after Charles had dropped off, weighing his political options without coming to any real conclusions. The frustrating thing is that there's not much he can do at this point except wait and see how the League responds to his apparent defection. Erik raises his hand to touch Charles, trying to distract himself from his own distraction. He rubs his thumb in circles over Charles' bare shoulder for a moment and then reaches up to brush back his bangs from his forehead. His hair has gotten tousled in the night, its soft waves deepening into strange twists and curls all around his face.

Charles is watching him, his mouth pursed like he wants to ask something. Erik lets his fingers drift through Charles' hair and down the back of his neck, feeling the warm skin there and stroking lightly with his fingertips.

Charles smiles, stretching a bit and turning over on his stomach. "How about a nice scratch while you're at it?" he asks, and lets out a downright wanton gasp when Erik digs in with his fingernails. "Oh, like that. If you could—between my shoulder blades—mm, yes."

He continues moaning softly as Erik applies himself to the task, stretching and indicating various spots that need attention until his back is crisscrossed with red lines. "That's enough, stop, stop. Oh, but that felt good."

Charles sighs as Erik switches to rubbing with the flat of his palm. Charles really has a ridiculous number of freckles back here. Erik contemplates staying in bed and counting them, spending the day tracing constellations with his fingers. "Hey," Charles says, drawing Erik's attention back up to his eyes. "Can you feel the hardware in my back?"

Erik shrugs, moving his hand further up Charles' spine so he's cupping his neck. "Sure, you've got something big here, like a series of bolts—I can feel two rods running down parallel on either side with little knobs spaced every half inch or so. And some pins holding them in place." His hand drifts, pressing down lightly on each of the spots where he can feel metal embedded deep in Charles' vertebrae.

He flexes his fingers, feeling the energy radiating out from each bit of metal, keeping the field he's generating as small as possible. Erik feels very aware of how dangerous this could be if he accidentally shifts or twists anything. "Titanium?"

"Yes. It's better for bone grafts."

"Mmhm." He pauses, feeling the edges of the thin metal rods. "Not pins, screws."

"Yeah, five of them."

Erik frowns, running his hand back up again. "I count six."

"Just checking," Charles says, one corner of his mouth ticking up in a sly smile. "That's pretty impressive."

"I do make a great metal detector."

"Have you ever thought about going into beach combing? You could be one of those guys who wanders around looking for old coins and shark teeth."

"Maybe if I get sick of politics." Erik digs the pads of his fingers into the cords of Charles' neck, massaging the tense muscles there as he listens to the metal below the surface of his skin. He can sense bone clinging to its edges, like coral on a reef. The screws on the right of Charles' spine are firmly in place, fused so there's no space between bone and metal, but something about the left feels off to him. Two of the screws feel loose somehow, slightly separated from the bone. Well, maybe that kind of variation and range of motion is normal. Erik doesn't have a ton of experience doing spinal MRIs. "Have you seen any healers?"

"Oh, sure. I still see one guy regularly, about once a month. I was in pretty bad shape when I first arrived. My doctors didn't exactly clear me beforehand for fleeing the country. I've seen a lot of different people, with lots of different powers. But, you know, not all injuries heal. Not completely."

"I know."

"Want some breakfast?" Charles asks, rolling to the edge of the bed and swinging his legs over the side. He waits until he has both feet flat on the ground and a good grip on the edge of the bed before pulling himself up. Erik sees him tense, teeth clenching as he sits up. He covers it quickly, turning his grimace into a smile. "I need some coffee, how about you?"

Erik doesn't particularly want to go into the office, so he lets himself dawdle. He takes his time drinking his coffee, watching as Charles gets caught up on his email and the day's news. They sit in the kitchen and Erik stares out the window, looking out at Charles’ small neglected patio. There’s a potted plant outside that looks like it hasn’t been watered or rained on in over a month.

Charles makes toast, juggling back and forth between a loaf of bread and his tablet as he leans on his kitchen counter. Erik glances over when the toast pops up, but Charles is distracted, not seeming to hear the ding.

“Um, Erik?” he asks, staring down at his tablet. “I think maybe you should see this.” He flips the screen around, holding it so Erik can see what he’s looking at. He’s on the front page of the _X-Daily_ which says “Breakaway Brotherhood?” in huge bold letters, while below there’s a photo of Erik standing in the Assembly looking determined, most likely about to announce, “I abstain.”  

“Oh, great,” Erik says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was kind of hoping this would stay internal for now.”

“It sounds like it could be blowing up into something big. I know the _X_ is basically a tabloid, but there are a lot of linkbacks on the bottom from other news sites.” 

“Hm…” Erik takes the tablet from Charles so he can read the opening paragraph. “ _In the latest ominous sign that the Coalition of Reconciliation is collapsing from within, maverick Deputy Erik Lehnsherr (7-BoM) refused to join a routine floor vote this Wednesday, publicly abstaining in a highly provocative snub._ ” He skims down the rest of the page, which is full of anonymous quotes from angry sources inside the government and aggressive ones from the Brotherhood. Most of them are probably low-level staffers who don’t actually have any insight into what’s going on, but he’s reasonably sure that one toward the bottom is Angel: “ _This is what we’ve been waiting for—the opportunity to finally break loose, and it’s high time the Brotherhood f***ing took it._ ” 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Charles asks, pressing his lips together like he’s struggling to contain his curiosity.

Erik sighs and hands the tablet back. "I do, it's just... I'm afraid if I start talking about my job then that's all we'll ever talk about."

Charles smiles. "I promise I'll make you shut up and change the subject if I get bored."

"Okay, just, keep that in mind?" Erik goes over the current crisis, backtracking a bit to explain why he's even in the Coalition in the first place. "Obviously I'm a lot closer to the loyal opposition on foreign policy and defense, but I dislike their stance on basically everything else, especially public aid. They're anti-welfare and anti-state in a completely reactionary way. It's a knee-jerk hold over from the days of dictatorship that ignores all the progress Genosha has made. Really, the current government doesn't do nearly enough as it is. There are so many disadvantaged mutants who end up here with nothing but the clothes on their backs. We could be doing so much more to help them survive those first years before they've established themselves."

"Which is why you want to increase the Refugee Office's appropriations?"

"Exactly. But Adler probably won't do it because so many of the old guard in the Coalition think that immigrant mutants are nothing but a burden, that they shouldn't be encouraging us. Or they're afraid that if Genosha seems too welcoming then one day the US will get tired of losing a quarter of its mutant population every year to illegal emigration."

"Well, then maybe they should try not locking up and drafting mutants as soon as they're identified."

Erik smiles. "I doubt they see it that way."

"They don't," Charles agrees, pushing his plate aside. "I hate to say it, but the US is probably stupid enough to try invading someday, depending on who's in office. There are certainly people in the Pentagon advocating it right now."

Erik takes a bite of his toast, which has gone cold by now. "You don't think they'd be successful, do you?"

"I don't know. The US military is powerful enough to do a lot of damage, and numerically they have enough mutants to combat our population. The Telepathic Corps certainly has plenty of experience neutralizing most mutations… But I think they underestimate just how intense the insurgency would be. Most Genoshans are already prepared for invasion, mentally if not physically, and we have a deeply engrained tradition of resistance and rebellion."

Erik nods. "I know so many people who would rather die than become slaves again. Or see their children enslaved."

"I know. I would."

"Me too."

"Also, there are plenty of US troops that would jump at the opportunity to desert and join other mutants in the fight, even within the corps itself."

"You would have, right?"

Charles shakes his head. "I probably would have gotten myself killed trying to make a run for it as soon as my boots were on Genoshan soil."

"Hmm…"

"So, to get back to the original subject: the problem is that there's nothing you can do right now to influence this budget bill?"

"Pretty much. The ball is out of my court and I don't have the power to put any real political pressure on Adler. The _X-Daily_ can post all the alarmist articles they like, but it's still extremely unlikely that I can get any other Coalition members to threaten to withhold their votes. So it's only my neck out on the chopping block."

Charles folds his arms. "In my experience, when you're out-gunned in one arena, the best strategy is to change the playing field."

"I can't exactly move the vote out of... Or—hm."

"Yes?"

"Enough of this baby-steps bullshit," he says, more to himself than to Charles.

"Huh?"

"Something someone said to me yesterday. I need to make a call, do you mind?" Erik asks, pulling out his mobile.

Charles waves at him to continue and then turns to open the fridge. He gets out the lone carton of eggs and takes a frying pan down from a hook on the wall while Erik is busy searching through his contacts.

The phone rings only once and then Angel picks up, sounding cranky. "What in god's name are you doing calling me at the asscrack of dawn?"

"It's 8:00. The sun has been up for two hours."

"Whatever. This had better be important is all I'm saying."

"It is. Remember yesterday when I asked you to be ready for something public? How quickly do you think you could organize a Brotherhood rally? Old school."

Angel lets out a loud whoop, making Erik grimace and hold the phone away from his ear. "Would tonight be too soon?"

"No, the sooner the better. But are you sure you can get a lot of people in for it?"

"It's Friday. We'll announce that there's free food and drinks on a first-come, first-serve basis. We’ll have to beat mutants away at the gates."

"Not just Brotherhood members though, I want this to be inclusive. Make sure all of Ward Seven feels welcome, and anyone else for that matter."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll roll out the big tent. I'll call Parks and Rec and see if we can book Lib Park. And if they won't give us a permit we'll call the police and tell them 5,000 people will be squatting tonight and they can come arrest us if they like."

"Make sure we have enough members for security; I don't want to force any officers to work overtime for us."

"No problem. I'll activate the phone tree and get Azazel started on the radio circuit."

"Great. I need to call Emma and Darwin first, but my office is at your disposal. Just let them know what you need."

"Frost doesn't know about this?" Angel asks, laughing. "I don't envy you that conversation. Does that mean I can call you 'Magneto' in the promos?"

"You can call me the Master of Magnetism for all I care. Just make if happen."

"You got it daddy-o!" There's another loud whoop and then a two-toned beep as Angel hangs up.

"That sounded exciting," Charles says, looking up from the pan where his eggs are popping and crackling loudly.

"Yeah—I have to run."

"You don't want eggs?"

"Uh," Erik says, glancing down at the time on his phone. Charles rolls his eyes and picks up one of the uneaten pieces of toast, piling onions and scrambled eggs on top. "Here, take it to go."

"Thanks! I'll try to call you later, okay? Tonight might be kind of crazy."

"Good luck."

______________

Emma has already found out about the rally by the time Erik arrives in the office, which is something of a relief. "Had a brainstorm?" she asks, confronting him before he even gets in past the row of cubicals by the door.

"Something like that. Where's Darwin?"

"Writing up an email blast for our volunteer mailing list. Care to explain your brilliant strategy to me?"

"Sure," Erik says, steering her into the conference room and away from the prying eyes of the interns. Erik can see Summers watching them with interest, his red glasses turning as his head twists to watch them walk out.

Emma folds her arms once they’re inside, making no move to sit down. “Remember that time you promised to keep me apprised of all your dumbass ideas?”

“I was going to apprise you. _This_ is me apprising you,” he says, opening his arms wide.

“Start then.”

"When you're outgunned in one arena, why not try a change of venue?"

She shakes her head. "This is totally going to backfire. You're going to make the Brotherhood look like a crude riot-prone mob just asking for a crackdown."

"Good, that's exactly what I want us to look like."

"I understand your love of being _contrary_ , Erik," Emma says, raising her hands to frame her face and puncturing her words with several violent shakes of her fingers. "But how exactly is that going to help?"

"Because that's the whole point, the mob. Tell me, Emma, what's the reason they let me in the Coalition? The _real_ reason."

Emma drops her hands, looking disarmed by the question. She shrugs. "To co-opt and channel the Brotherhood's popularity for themselves."

"Exactly. We keep acting like my populism—my being an outsider—is a weakness, but it's not. It's a strength and we need to start tapping it. We need to remind them that the crowd cannot be controlled. Just because they've made a few cosmetic concessions and let a single Brotherhood member into the halls of power does not mean they can control the popular forces we represent. _We_ can't even control them. They think voters are stupid, but they're not." Emma starts to roll her eyes so Erik repeats it, pounding the table next to him with his fist. "They're _not_. How long do you think I can keep my popular appeal so long as I'm bowing and scraping to the League? Not much longer, not with how little I got done in my first term."

"You're too hard on yourself—"

"It's my job. I owe it to them to do it well. Or they should fucking well should vote me out."

Emma sighs, looking up at the ceiling and rolling her shoulders. "Okay, it's not something I would suggest myself, but I see what you're trying to do. Fine. Azazel already has them talking about it on 'Wake Up with Vance and Buzzy,' so I guess we're going through with it." Her lip curls with disgust at the very idea of talk radio.

"Excellent," Erik says smiling. "You'll like this, trust me. You've never been to a Brotherhood rally before, have you?"

"We had tons of rallies during the election."

Erik laughs. "Oh, no, not like this. Nothing like this. It'll be fun."

"If you say so.” Emma does not look convinced. “Really, what's gotten into you lately? You're being so… you."

Erik leans back against the conference table, crossing his arms as he shrugs. "Nothing. Things are just going good I guess."

"Maybe I should be asking what _you_ have gotten _into_ ," Emma says, raising her eyebrows and coming to sit next to him.

Erik laughs. "I admit it, you were right about the dating thing. I do feel much less—tense."

Emma makes a very smug noise and shakes back her hair. "Thank you. I like when you admit how right I am."

Erik doesn't say anything in response, not wanting to accidentally increase Emma's delusions of grandeur. "Uh, while we're on the topic…"

"Yes?” Emma asks, sighing a little.

"So, Charles wants us to have a mental safe word."

"I need to start a column," she says, putting a hand on her forehead. "'Dear Emma, I'm dating a telepath and for some reason he keeps reading my mind.' Well, what's the problem? That's usually a good idea in new relationships. Why don't you just do your eyebrow thing?"

"My eyebrow thing?" Erik asks, lowering said eyebrows in confusion.

"You know." She wiggles her eyebrows at him three times like a creepy uncle at a barbecue.

Erik wonders if Emma is feeling all right. "I don't do that."

"What? Yes you do. It's our signal!" She taps her chest and then motions between them.

"We don't—What? I raise my eyebrows all the time!"

"Not like—" she does the wiggle again. One, two, three. "It's how I know you have something to say. You did it yesterday in the elevator when you wanted to make fun of that lobbyist’s sweater vest without him overhearing!"

"That doesn't mean—we have literally never talked about this. I'm reasonably sure you have to discuss a secret signal first for it to be a thing."

"We didn't have to talk about it because our understanding of one another is so deep it goes beyond words!"

Erik looks at her.

"Okay, fine. I guess it maybe doesn't,” she says, her jaw twitching like it does whenever she’s deeply annoyed with him. “So stop doing it then."

"I don't _do it_ in the first place."

"Oh my god." She pushes back from the table, taking a backward step toward the door. "Look, I'm going to go make some calls about your little Brotherhood block party, all right? Have you started working on your remarks?"

"Uh, yes. Up here," he says, tapping his forehead and shaking his head at the sudden subject change. "I'll write them down in a moment. Not that I'll stick to my notes once I'm up there."

"Do you mind if I give you a list of things _not_ to say?"

Erik smiles. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I might decide to be contrary and use it for talking points instead."

"I'll word them carefully." Emma puts one hand on her hip, taking a few more steps toward the door. "This could be big Erik, I'm going to try to get HBTV and GBC to do stories on it tonight. You can either make it work _for_ you or you can shoot yourself in the foot by saying something dumb while the entire island is watching."

"Maybe I want to say something dumb."

Emma pulls a face. "Fine then, say what you will, but try to do it _intentionally_ for once."

"I am always very deliberate in my phrasing."

"Uh huh."

"And my word choice."

"Right. I'm going to be nice and not remind you of last year's 'mutant Aliyah' dust up."

"How magnanimous of you."

She opens the door, letting in the murmur of voices from the rest of the office. "One other thing, I want you to ask Angel to keep them from bringing too many Brotherhood flags."

"Eh? We can't exactly snatch them out of people's hands as they arrive."

"I'm not asking you too. I'm saying tell everyone to bring Geonoshan flags instead. Too much black won't play well on TV. We want this to look inclusive. It's supposed to be a movement, not an insular cadre congratulating themselves."

"Okay, point taken. I'll have her tell people to bring both along if they've got them. And wear those tacky shirts and flag hats too."

"Great. I've already asked Darwin to find me a souvenir shop willing to donate a bunch of novelty flags and crap to hand out at the gates."

"Donate nothing, dip into the campaign chest to pay for them."

Emma smiles. "Can I get a witness in here to verify that you said that? Okay, tiny novelty flags for everyone. And we hand out freebies—a bottle of soda or something for anyone who brings their own."

Erik nods, pulling out a chair so he can sit at the conference table and do some writing. "Sounds good."

Erik takes his time, waiting until he has some basic statements he feels good about and an outline for the rest of his remarks. He works best when he has a lot of well-memorized material to draw on, improvising and combining ideas on stage in ways he’s never thought of before. When he comes back out, the cubicles have filled up. All of the interns are in, and also several past volunteers from his election campaign, most of them talking on phones or typing furiously. The radio is playing in the background, and Erik can hear Azazel’s familiar voice as he chats with the hosts of Mutant Nation.

Azazel is friends with one of the producers and a recurring guest, so it’s not too surprising that he got on the air so quickly. Mutant Nation is a radical program with a deeply conspiratorial bent that even Erik finds a mite paranoid sometimes. The last time he listened, Vance and Buzz were discussing whether the new RFID chips in US passports really had mutant detecting properties that could report back by satellite to the CIA and the Mutant Registration Authority.

“So I have to ask,” one of the hosts says. Erik thinks it’s Vance. “How likely is it that Madam Irene might be considering the, uh, ‘nuclear’ option?”

“Well,” Azazel says. “I certainly hope the Prime Minister isn’t planning to bomb Brotherhood headquarters anytime soon.”

Loud laughter follows, a hearty “har har har.” Erik had forgotten how irritating Buzz’s laugh is. “You know what I’m talking about. Rumor is that they’re dusting off Article 14 for the first time since 1976.”

“I know, I’ve heard the rumors,” Azazel replies, sounding saddened that anyone would repeat such a ridiculous idea, although he was probably the one who suggested it to Vance in the first place. “I certainly hope it’s not true, it would be a terrible shame. A huge setback for Genoshan democracy and civil society—taking us back to the days when you couldn’t say anything even the slightest bit critical about the government without being censured. Let me put it this way, we don’t _know_ that this is the last legal Brotherhood rally, but if it was, wouldn’t you want to be able to say you were there?”

“I know I would!” Vance say and Buzz lets out another booming laugh in agreement.

Angel interrupts Erik’s contemplation of the radio, spotting him over her shoulder and turning around in her seat. "There you are!"

Darwin is sitting next to her, and he turns and nods to Erik as well, raising a hand to cover his phone. "Leeward Community College just canceled evening classes."

"What, for us?"

"No, for the dog races," Angel replies. "Of course for us! The Dean is a brother."

"Oh, I guess I knew that."

Angel rolls her eyes. "They sent out an email saying they were closing due to 'traffic concerns.' That guarantees us at least another five hundred from the student crowd. Maybe more. Right now—low estimate—I think we’ll get roughly three thousand of the active Brotherhood in, and at least an equal number of civilians."

“Emma’s going to want more people.”

“There’ll be more! Did you miss the part where I said ‘low’ as in ‘I’m low-balling this so I don’t over-exaggerate and look like an idiot later even though I know we’ll get way more than that’?” She spins in her seat and picks up the phone from its cradle, waving her hand like she wants him to go away. 

“Great. What about me then?” Erik asks, nodding to the radio even through she’s not looking at him. “Shouldn’t I be out promoting as well? I’m surprised Darwin hasn’t bundled me into a studio already.”

"What? Absolutely not," Angel says, slamming the phone back down and turning around again. "I need you to be completely unreachable, and I mean completely.”

That's really fine with Erik; he hates doing talk shows, he's so _bad_ at them. Still, it seems a bit counterproductive as a strategy. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I need suspense, Erik. Everyone is wondering: what are you going to say? What's the response? And we need to keep it so the only way to find out is to come tonight."

"Or to read about it tomorrow,” he says, not convinced anyone will be that invested in hearing him speak.

"That's why the suspense is so important. All the Assembly-watchers and gossip blogs are following the _X-Daily’s_ lead and running with the story that the Brotherhood is starting a revolt that might just be the straw that breaks the Coalition’s back.” She stands up, making a sweeping gesture. “You think you’re the only deputy who’s frustrated with the League’s timid middle-of-the-road bullshit? We have to stretch out that mood, all that uncertainty and nervousness as long as possible."

"But, I'm not planning to break with them. Not yet anyway. I'm not even planning to go into any specifics tonight. Won't it be disappointing when I don't say what they all want to hear?"

"No, it will get us even _more_ attention because they'll all be panting after you and twice as desperate to see what happens next."

"Well, then I hope it’s good. Whatever it is."

"Not one word, promise me," Angel says, poking him in the chest with her finger. "Not a single word to _any_ reporter, I don't care how sympathetic. No phone calls, no email, not even a fucking text message that says 'no comment.' Completely. Unreachable."

“Okay, okay, got it,” Erik says, holding up his hands and admitting defeat. Angel nods, looking placated, and sits back down again.

Darwin clears his throat to get Erik’s attention, keeping his hand over his phone as he talks. "By the way, I think I've convinced Merryweather at the _Hammer Post_ to do a write up as well. Emma is currently off wining and dining the editorial side. If we play this right we might get front page coverage."

"Are you sure we want headlines in the _Post_?"

Darwin shrugs off his concern. "It's all good publicity, and that means we'll get in the centrist papers as well as the radical press. Also, so far three stations want to bring camera crews. We even got a request from Southern Cross!"

"Seriously? Way out in the archipelago?"

"They have a Hammer Bay-based team, so they're not coming from far, but yes."

Darwin and Angel have a list of people they want him to call personally, key campaign donors from the former and influential Brotherhood members from the latter. Erik calls the donors first, not looking forward to the calls on Angel's list. Most of the Brotherhood has been somewhat antagonistic toward Erik of late, and he's sure it's going to annoy some members that he didn’t ask them first before he began planning this rally. They don't have a centralized authority, but normally they plan events like this through multiple committees and careful consensus building.

Yet when he finally gets to Angel's list the calls are relatively painless. Nearly everyone agrees to attend, and some people even manage to sound excited. Azazel must have gotten out ahead of him to smooth over any ruffled feathers. Even Wyngarde is surprisingly cordial.

"So you'll speak?" Erik asks, trying to wrap things up with him. “At least at the opening?”

"Wouldn't miss it," Wyngarde replies. Erik thinks he can hear his teeth grinding over the phone line, but he might be imagining that.

"Great," Erik says, hanging up. He's sitting in one of the cubicles, purposefully making his calls there so the people on the other end can hear the noise and buzz of activity in the open office space. 

As Erik’s crossing off numbers from his list, Darwin comes in from the outside hallway and leans on the door. He clears his throat and pauses with uncharacteristic drama until Erik and half the room looks up at him.

"What?" Erik asks, wondering if they've scored another news team.

"Charles is here to see you." Darwin says, lifting one eyebrow. It's very nearly a wiggle.

Erik puts down the list in front of him. "Now? Is something wrong?"

"No, I think he wants to get lunch," he says, smiling as Angel asks "Charles? Who's Charles?" in the background.

Erik doesn't look back at her, getting up and going past Darwin to the door.  

Charles is standing out in the public hallway, wearing a navy sweater and a vaguely confused expression. He watches with interest as a group of three Brotherhood volunteers arrive, one of them clapping Erik on the shoulder as they go past. "Thanks for coming," Erik says, stepping aside so they can go inside. “Toynbee, right? Good to see you again.”

Erik turns after they go inside, holding out his hand to Charles and saying, "Hey!" Charles is leaning on his cane with his right hand, so he ends up taking Erik's with his left, squeezing it as he smiles. Erik feels awkward about it for a second, but, well, he kind of likes holding Charles' hand.

"Hi," Charles says. "So this is your office?"

"The outside anyway. It's kind of crazy in there. I'm afraid if I go back in I'll get roped into making more phone calls."

"Busy?"

"No, actually. I was just thinking about getting something to eat. Want to come?"

"Most definitely."

Erik takes the lead, keeping his hold on Charles' hand and starting to tug him down the hallway, but Charles quickly lets go. "Sorry, I need my hand as a counterweight."

"Oh, sorry."

Charles smiles. "Don't be."

Erik takes him to the private dinner club in the bowels of the Assembly building where only deputies and their personal guests are allowed. The food is only so-so, riding on its well-established reputation, but most people get a kick out of the novelty and glamour of being there.

Emma apparently had much the same idea for wowing the editor of the _Post._ They're in one of the corner tables sharing a decadent-looking dessert when he and Charles arrive. Erik glances over at her, but restrains himself from wiggling his eyebrows.

The special is steak frites, which seems to please Charles immensely. It's good thing since Erik also enjoys stealing his fries immensely. They finish their meal and are starting on a post-lunch drink by the time Emma ditches the _Post_ and saunters over to join them.

"Ms. Frost," Charles says, inclining his head. "You're even more attractive in person than online."

"Oh, flattery," Emma says, touching her chest. She's wearing pearls and a low-cut blouse, perfect for seducing editors over lunchtime martinis. She leans in toward Erik, giving him a good view of her necklace. "I see why you like this one."

"He does have his moments. How was your lunch with All-the-News-That's-Fit-to-Print?"

"Good, he's quite the conversationalist."

"Really? I have this distinct memory of you calling him an 'overstuffed greasy blowhard' once."

Emma clears her throat. "Well, he might be a schmuck, but he's our schmuck now. He's thinking about running a big headline tomorrow." She spreads her hands like the words are a banner unveiling in the air. "'Brotherhood Banned? Is this the end of the Coalition?'"

Erik can't stop himself from starting a bit. "Is it? _Are_ we?”

Emma shrugs. "I'm sure someone in the League is demanding that we be outlawed and arrested. Maybe even right now, in this very room." She turns her head to look around and smiles at another table across from them.

"Clever," Charles says.

Emma turns back to him. "I'm not above a little sensationalism. It does fill the voting boxes. So tell me truly, was this your idea, Charles?"

"Lunch?" Charles asks, looking up from his glass.

"The rally."

Charles coughs, almost choking on his drink. "The _rally_? No, no, dear. I try to leave the political maneuvering to the professionals."

"Uh huh," Emma says, smiling back at him with the look she normally reserves for her shrewdest opponents. "Well, it's been lovely seeing both of you, but we do have a very busy night tonight. I'll see you back at the office, Erik."

"Later." 

"Shalom," she says, giving them a little wave and getting up without contributing to the bill.

Charles waits until she's out of earshot before turning to Erik and asking, "Is there some running joke I'm not getting?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean—sort of. Emma just enjoys slaughtering Yiddish around me. It's because—" Erik's jaw clenches suddenly, remembering why. It's been such a long time that he'd forgotten how it started in the first place.

He takes a breath, letting it out slowly before beginning again, more quietly. "My mother loved languages, loved learning them and… she had this thing for Yiddish theater. She used to read plays out loud, and she tried to get me to learn some with her, but I didn't pick up much. At time I remember thinking it was waste of time when I wanted to focus on something 'useful' like English, but—later. Emma—"

He pauses, taking a sip of water to wet his throat. "Before I trusted her, when we were—she picked up on it. That it reminded me of my mother, and she tried using it with me to—I don't know, calm me down. I hated it, hated her, but somehow… when we met up again. I don't know, it became something different."

"I see."

"You should hear her German. Her accent is atrocious." Erik hasn't actually heard Emma speak German in over twenty years; he's not sure she even remembers the language anymore. Through mutual unspoken agreement they’ve both avoided using it with one another ever since they met again as adults.

Erik clears his throat, searching for a change of topic. "You will come, right? Tonight?"

"Oh, do you want me to?" Charles asks, his forehead wrinkling with what looks like genuine surprise.

"I mean, only if you want to. It'll probably be crowded and kind of tiring, but you can hang out backstage with me and, you know, I'll make sure you get a good seat for the speeches."

"As your special guest?" Charles asks, recovering himself enough to add some innuendo to his tone.

"As my plus-one. Not that there were invitations, but…"

Charles opens his mouth, looking speechless for the first time since Erik met him. "Okay."

______________

Erik walks Charles out to the street entrance and then gets back to work. His email has filled up with reporters pleading for quotes from him, but he follows Angel’s instructions and ignores them, focusing on expanding his speech instead. The rest of the afternoon passes quickly, the rally bearing down on him like an oncoming train; one that he set roaring down the tracks himself.

Erik goes early, coming along with Angel to greet VIPs and press the flesh with the rabble. Angel makes him stand by the bandshell to welcome the early birds. She has the patter down, calling out to every arrival with a different greeting, cheerfully mixing up ethnicities and languages as more and more people arrive. "Hello, sister! Hi, hermano! Hola, anadahiko! Karibu! Willkommen! Buenas tardes, bahin!" And, of course, the obligatory, "My mutants! Welcome!"

It's a real, old-school style rally, the kind the Brotherhood hasn't held in years. It's intensely democratic, in the most chaotic meaning of the word. The park fills up quickly, and the lawn in front of the bandshell is soon filled with mutants, many of them sitting out on blankets and lawn chairs. Impromptu tents start appearing all along the periphery of the park, many of them covering entrepreneurs hawking food and drink, or hucksters giving their own speeches in competition with the main stage.

Traditionally, they have an 'open mic' for the first half of the program, before the official speakers are scheduled to go. Anyone is allowed to get in line and go up on stage for fifteen minutes. It's an odd mix of impassioned ranting, maudlin expressions of community togetherness, and blatant self-promotion. Currently there's a married guitar/mandolin duo on stage playing a song that might be a metaphor for political protest, or might just be about a bad breakup. Next up is a twelve mutant drum circle, and after that is Jason Wyngarde, who's standing behind the drummers looking like the line has moved more quickly than he would have liked. He's sweating and scribbling in a little notepad, repeatedly writing down a word or two and then crossing it out again. Erik goes over to say hello and remind him that it's only 5,000 of his closest mutant brothers and sisters.

"Last I heard it was more like 10,000," Wyngarde says gloomily. "I'm not a natural politician like you are. I don't know how to speak unless I'm performing or projecting something."

Erik snorts. "I'm sure Angel's inflating those numbers. What are you so worried about? Shout a few slogans and do one of your magic tricks if you can't think of anything to say. They'll love that."

He frowns and tears a page out of his notebook, crumpling it up. "They're _illusions_ , and I'm not sure I can do one for the whole crowd. I'm much better at small groups."

"The people at the back can't see the stage anyway. Just pretend like you're talking at a normal Brotherhood meeting."

"Easy for you to—" Wyngarde gets cut off then as the drum circle starts. The beat is incredibly loud, echoing in the enclosed space behind the bandshell like it’s being played live inside of Erik's skull.

"Good luck!" Erik mouths, giving Wyngarde another pat on the back. He turns and goes down the line of other people waiting, shaking hands and nodding like he can actually understand what anyone is saying.

Erik doesn't notice that Emma has been texting him until she's sent him about four messages, missing the vibrations when he's surrounded by so much noise and commotion.

"Where are you?" the first one says, followed quickly by, "We need you backstage" and "Someone's here to see you." And lastly: "It's Charles so get back here already."

Erik pushes his way through the crowd, shaking hands as he goes and skillfully managing to avoid having to hold two separate squalling babies. He feels hot despite the setting sun, so he sheds his suit jacket, tossing it to a volunteer he recognizes and saying, “Put this somewhere.”

He finds Emma hiding under a canopy tent set up for staff behind the bandshell. She's holed up at a table with her blackberry and a laptop, frantically switching between them as she types. Charles is sitting across from her, watching with interest and apparently doing nothing whatsoever to help. It's starting to get dark and various volunteers are scrambling to set up flood lamps and improvised lights. Thank god Liberty Park has it's own lighting system for the bandshell. There's a flatscreen set up in the corner of the tent, showing a live feed of the stage, which is currently occupied by the Seventh Community Choir.

"Hi," Erik says, clapping his hand on Charles' shoulder. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it. If only so I could see Ms. Frost panicking."

"I'm not panicking. I'm simply concerned that the _Post_ writer is stuck in traffic and three HBTV cameramen have apparently gone missing." 

"They probably got distracted by the beer tent," Erik says. "Shouldn't Darwin be handling the news people anyway?"

"He's back at the office holding down the fort."

"Oh, now I feel bad. We have to bring him some alcohol later."

"I left him my office bottle. But you know him, he hates coming to things. He'd much rather be ensconced in the conference room with five different screens so he can watch all the TV and internet coverage in real time."

"Right, right. Is he on twitter and all that?"

"Of course. I understand we have a 'hashtag' trending now," she says, finally looking up from her phone and brightening.

"Wow, that's—good for us,” Erik says, loosening his tie.

Charles laughs. "It's actually pretty cool. People seem very excited." He's fiddling with his phone, typing something as he frowns slightly.

"Are you twitting right now?"

"What? No, I'm trying to reach, Raven—my sister. She's here somewhere and I'm trying to get her to come over so I can surprise her by introducing you."

Erik snorts. "She's a sister, right?"

"Right, and she's participating in some Sisterhood of Mutants poetry slam or something—I'm not sure. She stopped answering me a half-hour ago. She's probably wandering around naked and high somewhere."

"Naked?"

"Scales," Charles says, looking up and wrinkling his nose. "You can't really… see anything. Not much anyway."

"I want to meet this sister," Emma says, glancing up from her blackberry.

The crowd has been getting progressively noisier while they’ve been talking, forcing them to speak louder and louder to be heard. They seem to be chanting something now, and it takes a moment for Erik to figure out what it is.

"Are they shouting 'Magneto'?" he asks, looking over his shoulder in confusion.

"Oh my god, it's time. _Go_ ," Emma says, making shooing motions while Charles laughs.

Erik leans past her to kiss Charles on the cheek before he leaves. "Wish me luck."

______________

Later, Erik doesn't remember walking to the stage at all. Only the moment when he's suddenly in the floodlights, blinking as the assembled throng goes absolutely insane. Somehow on the way there he lost his tie entirely and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Well, he should be more casual for a rally like this anyway. He pats his pocket and realizes he didn't bring his notes.

He steps forward, raising his hands so the crowd quiets slightly. "Sisters and brothers," he says, pausing to let them cheer. " _My fellow mutants_." There's an even louder roar at that, and Erik can feel the stage shaking as people stomp their feet. The spotlight in his face is bright, so bright he can't make out the individual faces of the crowd. They're a vague black blur silhouetted in front of him, shifting and moving like shadows beyond the floodlights.

Erik wonders if Charles is still back in the tent, or if he decided to come around to the VIP section. He wishes he could see him, but there's no way he'll be able to find him unless they turn down the lights. Suddenly it occurs to Erik that he doesn't have to, not so long as Charles can see _him_. He raises his hand, two fingers extended like a closed peace sign and brings it up to his head, mining like he's trying to hear the crowd better and encouraging them to cheer even louder.

Charles slides into his mind like a smooth stone dropping into water. _You look lovely_.

_I think you mean I look commanding._

_Presidential even._

_Careful, don't jinx me. Can you or Emma find Angel and ask her to turn off that stupid spotlight? I can't see a thing._

_On it._

The crowd is starting to get restless, catcalls and whoops rising from the back, so Erik begins. "Thank you for coming here, for being here tonight." At that moment, the spotlight finally turns off, making the crowd laugh and titter in surprise.

"Oh, that's better. Thank you. I can see you now," Erik says, gesturing to the front and making eye contact with some of the closest mutants.

There's applauds again, but it's the quieter clapping of a group getting ready to listen. Erik clears his throat. "I came here because—because I didn't know if I would ever get to do it again. And I have so much that I want to tell you, so much left to say. But the main thing was—the real reason I wanted to speak to you tonight was because I want to tell you all how proud I am. To be here, standing here in this park— _Liberty_ Park. Here in this city, the most beautiful city on earth. And in this country. _Our_ country." Erik actually gets choked up for a moment, which is okay since a patriotic cheer goes up from the crowd.

"The past two years in the Assembly have been… well, I won't say a dream come true. In my dreams I get my own way more often than not." Mild laugher at that, and Erik is starting to warm up now, getting into the rhythm of it. "But it's been amazing; the best two years of my life. And I have never felt more pride in my job, in representing the people of this nation than I do tonight, seeing you all gathered together here." The mob rustles, and Erik can see flags waving from one end of the park to the other, a vast field of sky-blue and green.

“Like many of you, Genosha is not my first country, but it’s become my home. And I never stop being grateful when I wake up in the morning and see that sun rising over the National Assembly in the distance…”

Erik talks a little about his life—nothing he hasn't said before, just the bare outline of his arrival in Genosha and why he believes so strongly in their beautiful mutant nation. He doesn't bring up the finance bill directly, or the Office of Assistance to Refugees, or even the rumors that the Brotherhood is going to be suppressed. But the subtext is there, and he knows everyone listening is thinking about it. But he's not here to be a scold, or to ramble about the temporary crisis of the day. If this is his swan song, then he wants it to be a good one. Something that sums him up, his most pure unfiltered self. Something he can look back on with pride.

“I will never forget how welcoming Genosha was when I first arrived. So many mutants opened their arms and their homes to me—if I were to list them all it would take hours. I will never stop being grateful for that. I’ve tried to do the same for other mutants, other new arrivals like myself. But I know we can do more. I know we _should_ do more. Because when we help the least among us, we help all of us. And every mutant deserves to be safe, to be welcomed, to build a new future for himself in Genosha as I have.” 

He pauses to let the crowd finish clapping before continuing. "The other reason I'm here tonight is to ask you for something. If you don't mind." The response is encouraging, so he continues. "How many of you are from Ward Seven—my Ward?" Most of the crowd screams in response, hands flying up in the air as they wave and jump up to be counted. "Oh, I hoped so. Thank you so much for being here. I am a politician, unfortunately, so the thing I have to ask you for is your support. Not just six months from now, in the voting booth, but your support today and in the coming weeks. That's all I'm asking. If you agree with the things that I have said tonight, if you believe in the Genosha that I believe in—the future that I want us all to share—" He gets cut off momentarily as the cheers build into a crescendo. "Then the next time I need your help—whatever help you can offer however humble—please stand up with me and let us all stand together. Not for me, but for Genosha. My true home. Our motherland. "

It takes a long time for the crowd to calm down, but Erik waits them out. When the noise-level goes down somewhat he raises a hand, getting them to quiet again. "I need to do some thank-yous now, so please, bear with me. Is Jason Wyngarde out there? Make him come up here, push him if you have too. And Azazel, where's that old devil? And get Angel Salvadore. She's probably backstage checking to make sure we have enough bottles of water or something. Tell her we have minions for that and I need her up here. Now!"

Jason is the first to come up, practically getting carried forward by the crowd, which roars with delight when he gets shoved up on stage. Erik goes over to him, holding out the mike so he can stammer something about how he didn't do anything, not really.

"Uh huh, right," Erik says, taking the mike back. "Please. Who is here tonight because Jason personally asked them to come?" A cheer goes up in response, followed by several loud wolf whistles. "That's what I thought. There's a reason we used to call you Mastermind."

Angel is next, stepping out from the side of the stage with an annoyed look, like Erik has dragged her away from something very important. Which, to be fair, he probably has.

"Angel!" Erik says, cheerfully dragging her up next to Jason. "Okay, many of you might not know Angel, but you should. She single-handedly put this night together in less than twelve hours. She is the best organizer I know and my personal pick for future chair of the Brotherhood. Everyone, please join me in thanking Angel!"

Angel attempts to protest that it was hardly 'single-handed,' but the crowd is too noisy for anyone to hear her.

Azazel chooses that moment to pop on stage, making Erik and the others jump as the crowd roars with laughter.

"Azazel," Erik says, turning to him. "There you are. Now, I'm sure you all know Azazel." A loud cheer goes up in agreement. "Good, good. And I hope every one of you in Ward Nine supported him last election." Another cheer, even louder this time if possible.

"Excellent. Okay, everyone, I have to come clean. I have something I want to ask these three, and I knew if I got them up on stage like this they couldn't say no."

Jason turns his head to give him an odd look, while Angel's eyes blaze with something that might be terror or excitement. Azazel smiles. Last year, at the end of their stump speeches, they made of point of calling the other up on stage to ask for the audience's shared support. 

"Jason, I know you love the Eighth with all your heart and would probably slit your own wrists if your blood would help them build a new school or feed a new resident. Would you do me the honor of running in the upcoming election to represent Ward Eight?" Jason looks a little shell-shocked so Erik turns to the crowd. "Wasn't Jason great today?" The crowd shouts its agreement. "And are you going to vote for him this August?"

Jason leans in, pulling the mike over to his face and saying gravely, "It would be my honor."

Erik waits until the shouting has died down a bit before turning to his left. "Angel. Angel Salvadore. What was it you told me last week about how the Eleventh has the best taquerias on the island?" Angel nods, eyes wide as the Eleventh residents in the crowd make themselves known. "What was it you said again, 'if I'm going to move anywhere....'?"

"It would be to Ward Eleven," she finishes.

Erik pats her arm as the crowd starts to get worked up. "I'll help you move."

Angel gives him a skeptical look. "I've got that big couch, remember? And the wardrobe."

"I remember, I remember. I'll be there, just name the day. Any day you like. And I bet some of these folks will help too, right?" Erik looks out at the crowd as they scream in their eagerness to help carry Angel's couch. "See? So you have no good reason not to run as 2013 Deputy of Ward Eleven."

The Elevens in the crowd go mad them, shouting and waving in agreement and getting even louder as Angel nods and raises one arm. She blows a kiss to the crowd with the other, smiling brilliantly. It's a tough district, currently represented by a fifteen-term deputy who once served with distinction in the revolution. But if anyone can unseat him, Angel can. Erik's only sad that she won't be able to help him with his own campaign now. 

Azazel is last, and he's been waiting. Erik knows he doesn’t have to ask, so he just points, making a large flourish with one arm so the crowd turns as one to look at Azazel.

Azazel nods and raises his arms into the air. A huge cheer goes up, so loud that Erik doesn't even hear the crack as Azazel vanishes in a whiff of smoke. He appears again on the other side of the stage, motioning to the left wing to cheer louder. Then in another flash he's on the right side, egging them on there as well. He waits until the cheers start to fade before snapping his fingers and reappearing between Angel and Jason. Erik steps back, letting them bask in the crowd's adulation for a moment.

He steps into one of the wings, only going a few paces so he's still visible from the far right. "Can we get some music out here?" he asks, shouting to no one in particular. "I need some musicians. Who's still backstage? Anyone who can play the Genoshan anthem."

Several stagehands scatter, and Erik can hear Emma broadcasting his request as a demand. _If you can sing or play worth a damn get out on stage now_

The husband and wife duo from earlier are the first to come out, stumbling in confusion like they're not sure they heard right. Then a few more lone players appear, each lugging along a different instrument. Half the choir comes next, some of them rushing up the side stairs without their robes.

Erik waits until a dozen or so have assembled themselves before prompting. "'Lonely Isle'—come on, I know you know the words." The crowd rises as one, hats coming off and hands clapping over hearts all throughout the park. They're slightly out of tune, and it takes a few lines before the musicians are all on tempo, but once they get going it's beautiful.

_Lonely isle, my true home,_  
 _Proud mountain standing free._  
 _Let your head remain unbowed,_  
 _Last land of liberty._

_Lonely isle, motherland,_  
 _Wide arms outstretched to me,_  
 _When I was but a child cowed,_  
 _I fought and bled for thee._

They make it though all the verses, even the fourth and fifth, which normally get skipped over for reasons of time. The crowd gets particularly lusty when they get to the line that goes, "Er' I ever saw your shores / I pledged my heart to you."

There isn't a dry eye on stage when they finish, and then the choir spontaneously launches into the Mutalay version of "God Bless Africa," which guarantees there isn't a dry eye anywhere in the park either.

Erik could stay up there all night—he's already thinking of other songs he'd like to lead them in—but Angel and Azazel both get an arm around his shoulders and force him to bow out. They wait offstage until it's clear the crowd won't stop applauding, and then go back for an encore. It's too loud to be heard even with a microphone, so they simply do a victory lap, walking around the edges of the stage to shake hands and wave goodbye one last time.

Emma is standing in the wings when Erik steps off stage again. "What did you think?" He asks, feeling flushed and a bit buzzed.

Emma's lip curls in an expression that would look like disgust if he didn't know her so well. "I think some day soon we're going to rule this town."

"You know, I still feel weird when you get turned on by me."

"Don't take it personally, it's only the raw power."

Charles is behind her, stepping around Emma to touch Erik’s arm. "That was brilliant."

"Was it?"

"More than brilliant." He kisses his fingers and touches them to the corner of Erik's mouth, and then Erik is being pulled away. He gets mobbed by well-wishers and Brotherhood members, half the crowd surging up on stage in their excitement. If this is his swan song, Erik can't think of a better way to go out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N'kosi Sikeleli (God Bless Africa): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8ab6xDhgbQ


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unintentional several month hiatus guys. And thanks to Clawfoot for betaing.

Erik wakes up early, still feeling tense and keyed up from last night. He’s desperate to see the morning news coverage of the rally, and yet he fears it at the same time. He lies still for a moment, listening to Charles’ breathing and trying to convince himself to get another hour of sleep.

It’s no use. Moving slowly so as not to disturb Charles, he rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He had turned it off to keep himself from checking it in the middle of the night, and now the wait for it to power on seems endless.

As soon as it’s back on, Erik discovers he has a surprising number of early morning text messages. His phone buzzes repeatedly in his hand as they all arrive at once. The most recent one is from Darwin and it’s only two words, "Call me." That’s not good. Darwin only gets terse when something serious is brewing.

Erik sighs and turns off the screen, putting the phone down without reading any of the messages below Darwin’s. He needs some coffee before he’s ready to deal with whatever stupid kerfuffle has bubbled up while he was sleeping. Probably someone has chopped up his speech and taken his comments out of context in an effort to twist his message. Bigots worldwide tend to freak out whenever Erik makes a major address, snipping out sound bites and claiming it’s anti-human hate speech or other such nonsense. But with any luck the slander will be restricted to human networks, while the broadcasters inside Genoshan stay focused on the internal political situation.

Erik turns on the TV on his way to the kitchen, flipping to GBC and smiling when his own face appears in the square floating over the morning newscaster’s shoulder.

"—claiming over 25,000 attendants, making the spontaneous rally the largest single event ever held by the Brotherhood of Mutants." The image changes to a full-screen montage of Erik on the stage, looking ruffled but confident as he speaks to the jubilant crowd.

Erik leaves the TV playing, turning up the volume before he goes to turn on the coffeemaker and boot up his laptop in the kitchen. The nearly-gushing commentary blaring from the other room helps buoy up his spirits as he opens his email. Apparently, as far as GBC is concerned, the rally was an enormous success that only reinforced Erik’s growing political clout.

The first message in his private email is a link from Emma labeled "high priority" with a red exclamation mark and no comment. Inside is a web address for a political gossip blog whose very name makes Erik’s stomach sink with dread. Yet the truncated title on the end seems oddly innocuous: <http://survivalofthevicious.com/post/54771/lehnsherr-finally-finds-nice>

He clicks on it and his heartbeat doubles as a grainy screenshot of Charles loads at the top of the page. It’s from last night, a shot of the rally stage taken from the far right of the bandstand, the angle giving a good view of the left wing. The image has been zoomed in quite a bit, but it’s still easy to make out the figures circled in red. Charles looks flushed and fond, smiling as he reaches out to touch the cheek of the person next to him. Erik is in profile, but clearly recognizable and also obvious grinning like he’s completely stupid for the man touching him. The block headline below them reads, "Lehnsherr Finally Finds Nice Mutant Boy?"

Erik focuses back on the sound of the GBC morning news then, which is still playing in the background. They’ve moved on to the point-counterpoint portion of the broadcast, and Erik hears one of the talking heads clear his throat and say, "Personally, Trish, I find such speculation completely distasteful. Could we please focus on the substance of Lehnsherr’s comments instead of puerile speculation about his personal life?"

"But surely you’re curious—" the anchor says, evidentially not ready to get back to substantive commentary when they could be rumor mongering. Fucking wonderful. That means it’s already gotten off the internet and onto the respectable news. Erik tries to focus back on the blog while the GBC commentators bicker in the background about whether or not modern politicians are allowed to have a private life. 

The article, such as it is, doesn’t amount to much. The author seems extremely proud of himself for having discovered who the "mystery man" was with Erik last night. He’s managed to dig up a few details from Charles’ staff page at Gen U, but nothing too personal. The whole thing wouldn’t amount to much more than speculation and innuendo if it weren’t for the final paragraph:

_A highly-placed and highly-exclusive source informs SotV that Lehnsherr and his new beau have been spotted at several Assembly Hill establishments, most recently—if our source is to be believed—snuggling cozily in a private booth at a certain well-known fowl-themed restaurant._

‘Fowl-themed?’ Shit, that can only be the Hawk & Dove. Which means the anonymous source could be anyone who was there that night. He should be relieved there isn’t a shaky phone photo to back it up. But why call the source ‘highly-placed’ if they’re just some random tourist? Maybe the author means it’s the bartender on the second floor or something. 

His phone starts buzzing on the counter, vibrating angrily with a phone call. It’s Darwin, probably getting impatient with Erik’s lack of response to his messages.

"Hi," Erik says, pleased with how calm and nonchalant he sounds.

"Morning, I assume you’ve seen it?"

"Emma sent me a link."

"So… how are you feeling?"

Erik pauses, trying to take in an honest assessment. "Good, actually. I feel very—not upset. I knew this was coming when I invited him somewhere so public, and I’m okay with it. I was hoping it wouldn’t happen quite so quickly, but—"

"Seriously? I thought you’d be in a blackout rage by now—wait. What link did Emma send you?"

"There’s more than one?"

"Oh, man, hold on. I’m sending you something that’s… pretty bad. Don’t hang up. Okay, here it comes—did you get it?"

Erik refreshes his inbox a few times, his heartbeat speeding up as he waits. He clicks on the message as soon as it appears, barely registering the address until the page is loading. It’s the _X-Daily_ , that stupid rag again, and their headline is much less cutesy than the gossip blog’s _. The Radical and the Psycop._

They have the same blurry picture from the rally with Charles smiling and touching Erik’s mouth. The caption beneath it reads, " _Charles Xavier, former Lieutenant, Telepath Corps of the United States, has been closely linked with Erik Lehnsherr in recent days, and the two are reportedly pursuing a romantic relationship."_

 _Shit_ —this is exactly the scenario Erik was most afraid of, someone digging into Charles’ past in order to discredit his politics. He skims down, eyes catching on a paragraph that starts—

 _Upon his arrival in Genosha ten years ago, Xavier was held by the Bureau of State Intelligence for five days before being released, apparently without any restrictions. An anonymous source who was involved in the background investigation informed the_ X _that he still holds doubts about Xavier’s release: "I was against it from the beginning. When you’re dealing with someone that powerful, it’s almost impossible to be sure that you’re not all being hoodwinked."_

"Oh for _fuck’s sake—_ " Erik says, hitting the table with his fist so hard his hand stings.

"What part are you at? The office source?" Darwin asks, startling Erik. He’d nearly forgotten he was still on the phone.

"You mean the one from the Bureau? Wait—" Erik skims down, spotting the quote Darwin must mean.

 _Another source from within the Brotherhood itself expressed surprise and confusion about the two’s involvement._ " _I don’t know when it started. Suddenly this ‘Charles’ shows up out of nowhere. I’d never even seen him before yesterday. I hate to sound suspicious, but the suddenness makes me wonder. Given his history, Lehnsherr is very vulnerable to telepathic influence."_

"If this person works in our office they are fucking fired," Erik snarls.

"I don’t think they do, but agreed," Darwin says. "The idea—it’s completely idiotic. If anything, having Emma around means you’re _less_ vulnerable since you have experience blocking and a powerful telepath keeping tabs on your mind."

"Ugh, they probably think Emma’s in on it too, fucking conspiracy theories. Shit, this is bad, isn’t it? Really bad?"

"It is and it isn’t. There isn’t actually anything substantial here If it was just a gossip piece about you maybe-having a boyfriend it wouldn’t even be worth a denial. At worst it’s a distraction. But the telepath angle… that could be bad."

"Shit."

"Don’t panic. This is still manageable, Erik. The _X_ is the worst of the worst. No respectable paper would run with this story. At least not with these kind of ridiculous leaps of logic and questionable sources."

"But they might report on how there are rumors that I’m dating a former Corps officer."

"You _are_ dating a former Corps officer."

"Shit."

There’s a pause, and then Darwin asks, "Was that news to you?" His voice sounds controlled, like he’s trying to keep it from sounding judgmental.

"Yes and no. We talked about it but not in any depth." And as far as Erik can remember, Charles never mentioned his rank.

"Mmhm…" Darwin says, sounding wary now. 

"It’s not like—he’s hasn’t lied to me or anything," Erik says, rushing to answer Darwin’s unspoken accusation. "That I know of. And, it’s not like—I haven’t exactly shared all the gory details of my past with him, so—"

"Yeah, okay. I get it. Where are you right now?"

"At my apartment in the Seventh. What’s the plan, should I stay put or come in?"

"Stay where you are and keep a low profile. I’ll come out there. Is he with you? We should all be on the same page about what happens next."

"Uh, yeah. He’s here."

"Okay, good. We’ve got to get out in front of this, but without _looking_ like we’re getting out in front of it. I’ll be there in 40."

Erik hangs up and keeps reading, skimming through the remainder of the article. Lower down is another picture which doesn't fully register until he looks at it twice. He assumes it’s a stock photo at first, until he realizes that the baby-faced young man in the beret and military uniform is _Charles_.

He looks incredibly young and serious in the photo, his eyes looking slightly to the left and away from the camera. It must be an early enlistment picture; Charles doesn’t look much more than eighteen. He’s wearing the badge and scarlet piping that marks him as an active telepath, able to invade the minds of anyone around him in pursuit of unregistered mutants and enemies of the United States.

It’s a uniform that’s been worn by countless villains on cheap Genoshan television dramas and soap operas. The Corps’ almost mythical powers and reach beyond US borders have made them the main bogeyman for nearly every Genoshan child and most adults as well. _Be good or the psycops will come get you. They’ll take you away to a mutant center in the States and you’ll never come out again._ Erik can’t help feeling a little involuntary shiver of fear seeing Charles in that uniform—this mild, kind man he’s trusted without hesitation. It’s a shock seeing him wearing that familiar hated emblem on his shoulder, two arrows clenched in an eagle’s talon on a blood-red shield.

Erik is so focused on the story in front of him that he doesn’t hear Charles moving around until he’s already in the kitchen. His shuffling walk makes Erik jump guiltily as he comes up behind him and kisses the back of Erik’s neck. "Morning," he says, leaning his head on his shoulder.

Erik turns to look at him and gets a face full of Charles’ dark hair. "Hey."

"You know, I didn’t really get a good look at your decor last night," Charles says, glancing around the kitchen. "It’s very… minimalist."

Erik blinks, thrown by Charles’ comment and still feeling distracted by what he was just reading. He takes in the white walls and simple stainless steel cabinets around him before shrugging. "I like having metal furniture."

"Oh right, that makes sense." He leans against Erik’s back, running a hand up over his shoulder and rubbing a soothing hand over his tense muscles. "Uh, is something wrong?"

Erik turns back to his laptop and scrolls to the top of the page in response, hearing Charles’ breath catch as he reads the headline. He goes very still against Erik’s side. "Damn."

"Yeah."

Erik waits in silence as Charles reads. He reaches around Erik to scroll down after a moment and makes a disgusted sound when he gets to the bottom. Erik starts to reach for his hand, but Charles ignores him, pushing away from the chair and out of Erik’s space.

He runs his hands through his hair, mussing it up further as he turns away. "Well, this is just…" He sounds indignant at first, but then his shoulders drop and he lowers his chin, turning farther away and exhaling with a rough, wavering gasp.

"Charles, I’m so sorry," Erik says. His heart is pounding now, feeling shaky and nervous in a way that makes him want to get back the simple rage he had earlier. Charles never signed up for this; he hasn’t learned to deal with constant public attacks like Erik has. "I never should have—this is all my fault for bringing you there."

"No, it’s not." Charles says, sighing and going to the coffeemaker. He’s still not looking at Erik, and his right hand is flexing like it’s hurting him. He keeps making a fist and then releasing it the same way he did the other night, while he uses his good hand to search in the cabinets for a coffee mug. Erik waits him out, his chest getting tighter and tighter as he waits for Charles to say something.

Charles blows on his coffee once it’s poured and takes a tentative sip. He sighs. "I should have warned you that something like this might happen. I was afraid it would."

That surprises him. "Really?" Erik wants to ask about Charles’ rank, what it means to be a lieutenant, but he’s afraid it will come out wrong. Better to wait until the shock has worn off.

Charles shrugs, finally meeting Erik’s eyes and giving him a tired smile. The crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes look heavy, etched deeply in his face above the dark bags below. "It’s happened before. Sort of. There was something of a scandal at Gen U when I first got tenure. There are still people in some other departments who refuse to speak to me."

"Assholes," Erik says. Charles smiles and comes to sit across from him at the table. He reaches out to touch Erik’s hand and Erik lets out the breath he was holding, some of his tension released.

"It’s okay," Charles says. "Shit happens. It’s not your fault people are assholes."

"I hate everyone," Erik says, mainly to see Charles smile as he entwines their fingers.

"Even me?"

"Everyone aside from you."

"Oh good," Charles says, smiling again. "Because I’ve becoming rather fond of you myself."

Erik swallows. Charles is joking, but he’s still feeling very serious, afraid this mess will ruin their relationship before it even gets started. Not that they have an actual defined relationship yet. "Charles, I never wanted—I don’t want to bring you grief, or make things worse when it’s already—"

"It’s okay, Erik, really," Charles says, cutting him off. He smiles again, his expression getting closer to his normal cheerful look. "I don’t care what bullshit they print in the papers. My friends know who I am, and I don’t care what strangers think of me. I’m not going to end something that makes me happy just because it might look bad to people who don’t know shit."

Erik nods, reaching out to take Charles’ other hand and clasping them both tightly. "You make me very happy."

"Good," Charles says, but he glances aside as he does it, his eyes unfocused. His tone is still light and flippant, like he’s trying to steer their conversation away from serious territory.

Erik wants very badly to say something more. The words are like a physical pressure inside him, burning in his lungs and swelling on his tongue unsaid. But it’s not right. He can’t think of a way to say them that won’t seem intense and demanding. Now isn’t the right time, not when Charles is feeling vulnerable and wounded. Erik’s afraid of tipping the scales from worth-the-trouble to too-much-too-fast.

So instead he waits for the moments to pass and for the pressure in his chest to ease. He holds Charles’ hand in silence until he can speak safely again, standing and excusing himself to take a shower. Charles nods absently in response. He’s has Erik’s laptop pulled over in front of him, searching for other sites that have picked up on the _X-Daily’s_ story.

In the bathroom, Erik leans his head against the glass of the mirror, staring into his own eyes and hating the uncertain look there. "Get a grip," he tells himself. "It hasn’t even been a week."

______________

Later Erik’s glad for his haste getting ready. Darwin arrives in half the time he promised. It’s raining by then, and he comes inside shaking the water off his arms.

"I have several messages for you," Darwin says, hanging up his umbrella in Erik’s foyer. "First, Angel wanted me to tell you to keep your mouth shut. Well, your ‘fucking’ mouth, actually."

"Yeah, thanks. I had filled in the profanity on my own," Erik replies, following him into the living room.

"She’s very concerned that you continue not to make any comments publicly, but frankly I think we need to do something to address this." Darwin nods toward the kitchen, where Charles is sitting at the table. He’s still only half-dressed although he pulled on pants for propriety’s sake.

"This being me?" Charles asks.

"Unfortunately," Darwin says, holding out his hand to shake. "Nice to see you again, Charles."

"Hi Armando. I only wish it were under better circumstances. Do you want some coffee?"

"Coffee would be lovely. Oh—and I almost forgot," he says, patting his pockets until he finds a business card in the back left. "Wyngarde gave this to me before he left the rally last night."

Erik takes the white card from him and examines it. The front appears blank at first, but when he rotates the card a silvery hologram of the Brotherhood’s logo appears, the raised fist shimmering in the kitchen’s overhead light. Beneath are two graceful curving initials, J.W. Erik snorts and flips it over to read the short note on the back. "I hate you, Lehnsherr. Can’t wait for campaign season."

Charles laughs, reading it over Erik’s shoulder as he hand Darwin a coffee mug. "Who’s that from?"

"Jason Wyngarde. He’s the guy I made into a candidate for Ward Eight last night. I don’t know why he’s pretending to be mad. He was deeply offended last cycle when no one asked him to run."

"Wyngarde loves being aggravated, it’s his favorite emotional state," Darwin says. "Much like another mutant I know."

Charles chortles again, hiding it by turning to refill his mug from the coffeemaker. He turns just in time to miss Erik’s glare. "Why is it my staff loves insulting me in front of my dates so much?"

"I think it's more that we enjoy insulting you under any circumstances." Darwin says. He gives Erik an apologetic smile and takes a sip of his coffee. "Okay, joking aside, are you guys ready to talk through this?"

Erik glances at Charles and he nods. "I suppose, but could we take this somewhere more comfortable?"

They move to the couch in the living room, settling around Erik’s brushed-steel coffee table. Darwin pulls his laptop out of his bag and gets set up, getting ready to take notes. "One other thing," he says, looking at Erik as his computer boots up. "When I asked Emma if she had anything to tell you she just said, ‘ha’ really loudly. I’m not sure if that was actually a message for you or not."

Erik sighs. "It was."

Darwin snorts and then shakes his head, his face becoming serious as he shifts gears. "Okay, I assume you’ve both read the _X-Daily_ ’s article by now?"

They both nod, Erik adding, "Unfortunately."

"Right, so it’s already started to spread into the non-tabloid media. It’s a bit too juicy not to. We need to do something to contain the story, to keep it from expanding in unsavory directions, but first I need more information to work with." He turns to Charles. "I need to know about your service in the Corps."

Charles sits back, looking slightly startled. "What about it?"

"Well, for starters, where were you stationed?"

Charles puts down his mug, shifting it on the table like he’s stalling for time. "I was…" He sighs, pausing again before continuing, his voice hushed. "Headquarters. In Washington, DC." His right hand flexes, opening and closing with that painful motion Erik is becoming all-too familiar with. "I was in crowd-control mostly. Scanning large groups and weeding out minds with the intent to do violence. It’s a very difficult skill—reading a crowd and still being able to filter down to the individual level. Most telepaths can't manage it. So they often had me at high-level events with large crowds, like when the President was speaking. I also spent a lot of time in the DC metro at rush hour. Listening."

Charles glances up, looking at Erik for a moment before looking down again. The room is quiet aside from Darwin’s typing. "They like to have a telepath at key stations standing above the platform, so people can see them and know they’re being watched. People often panic and start thinking about the most incriminating things they’ve done. Or thought about doing."

The hair on the back of Erik’s neck prickles. "You were thought police."

"Yes. Is it any wonder people hate us? After a few years of that I was ‘promoted’ to mutant investigation—that was when I was made Lieutenant. I refused officer training, but you move up automatically after a few years in the field. Investigators search actively for mutants who are passing as base-line human."

Darwin makes a noise, a little grunt that might be sympathetic or only startled. "How long were you an investigator?"

"About—a year? No, it was, um, I was assigned in March of 2001 and then I was injured the next January so… ten months. Seemed longer than that."

"And how did you leave? You fled, right? Were you disciplined or court-martialed first?"

"No!" Charles says, raising his head and giving Darwin a startled look. "No, I could never have—they would have had me under guard then. Proper guard. I had a few black marks on my record, but nothing serious enough to warrant a disciplinary hearing."

"Damn," Darwin replies. "I was hoping we could paint you as someone working against the system from the inside. Or at least insubordinate."

Charles shakes his head. "No, I don't think—I mean, I wasn't exactly a model officer, but I did my best to keep it—" He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Back then I… I spent a lot of time thinking about—well, not thinking. My partner would have overheard me if I was explicitly seditious, obviously. But I wanted desperately to find some way out, and I sometimes let people go. If I could let something slide or make a ‘mistake’… but I never had the guts to actively refuse an order."

"If you had you would have been arrested yourself and killed," Erik points out. He wants to touch him, but Charles has drawn so far into himself that he’s not sure it would be welcome. He has his both arms crossed over his chest now and his shoulders bowed. 

"No," he says, glancing up at Erik before looking down at the coffee table again. "They never would have killed someone as powerful as I am. They'd have neutralized me with drugs and attempted brain surgery to make me more compliant."

"Lobotomy," Darwin says, nodding.

"A bit more finesse than the old icepick, but yes," Charles says. "I’ve known telepaths who had it done."

Erik shudders. He’s never heard of such a thing but it doesn’t surprise him in the least. "I’m glad you didn’t try then."

Charles doesn’t say anything in response, although his frown deepens.

Darwin sighs. "Well, I rather wish you had. From a PR perspective." He taps the table and looks away. "Mutant hunter… that’s going to be hard to spin."

Erik winces at the harsh term, but Charles doesn’t seem affected. "I don’t know if you can spin it," he replies. "Or if you should."

Erik huffs. "Sounds like the same old story to me. Another abused mutant controlled by humans and forced to hurt others under the threat of violence."

Charles shakes his head. "Erik, no."

"No what?" he asks, his blood pumping faster at the first sign of an argument, even though he knows that’s not what Charles needs from him right now.

"You’re trying to paint me as a victim, but it won’t work," Charles answers, looking him fully in the face for the first time since this conversation started. "Because I wasn’t. I had a choice, and I chose my own life over those of my fellow mutants—"

"Charles—" Erik says, trying to interrupt. He’s seen this same spiral before with Emma, and he already knows what Charles is going to say when he cuts him off.

"Do you think the people I arrested care that I felt _bad_ about it? " he asks, raising one hand to gesture. His fingers are shaking and Charles quickly leans in to hide it, pressing his knuckles down on the brushed metal of Erik’s coffee table."They're probably still in a cell somewhere—if they’re lucky enough to still be alive—the telekinetic man, that woman with the blue hair, the girl that—Do you think any of them care about my crisis of conscience? Do you think it makes them feel _better_?"

"Do you think your guilt does?" Erik asks. It’s a line he’s used on Emma before, and the effect is much the same, making Charles go silent as his eyes drop and his face flushes. "Somehow I have a hard time seeing you as the ruthless telepath laughing evilly as you locked people away."

Charles doesn’t respond and they’re both silent as Darwin types. He’s probably waiting for them both to calm down before he ventures back into the conversation. Charles keeps his arms crossed and refuses to look at Erik. He looks so ashamed, Erik wishes rather badly he could go back in time and veto this conversation completely.

Darwin waits another five minutes, letting them sit in silence before he sits back from the keyboard. "I’m surprised you weren’t weaponized," he says, nodding at Charles.

"Oh," Charles shrugs, accepting the change in subject with relief. "No, they never really trusted me enough for that. They knew I was capable of keeping things hidden, even if they couldn’t get past my blocks. I did see a weapons installation once, this vast complex in Virginia." He shakes his head. "It must have cost millions. It could extend a telepath’s natural reach, give someone the capacity to find individual minds miles and miles away and read them, alter them, take control… even kill from a distance."

"My god," Erik whispers, sitting up. The security implications of that are staggering. What sort of reach could a machine like that have? If it was confined to the US that would be one thing, but what if the Corps had them abroad? They could easily build an installation at one of the American bases on the mainland, only a few hundred miles from Genosha’s shoreline.

"Yeah, I know," Charles says, licking his lips. "But so does... uh, actually… There’s something else, something which might be helpful."

"Yes?" Darwin prompts.

"I shouldn’t be telling you this, but… Since I arrived in Genosha I’ve occasionally… helped the Bureau from time to time. It’s completely classified, but they trust me enough to make use of my abilities on occasion."

"You mean State Intelligence? Is there anyone there who might be willing to vouch for you?" Darwin asks.

"On record?" Charles shakes his head. "That would be asking a lot."

"They wouldn’t have to explicitly mention your classified work, or even alluded to it," Darwin points out. "Just a statement defending your loyalty would be helpful."

"Maybe there’s someone I know," Erik suggests. "Someone who owes me a favor. I worked with the Security Commission last year. What about someone on the legislative committee?"

"Oh, no, no one like that. It was all extremely need-to-know… There could be, well, Philip Moreau owes me a favor."

Darwin’s mouth drops open as Erik leans forward over the table. "The Deputy Head of Intelligence owes you a _favor_?"

Charles shrugs, looking embarrassed. "A small one?"

"Yeah, uh, that would work," Darwin says. "Can you call him?"

"Um," Charles looks embarrassed, like he’s regretting mentioning it now. "I’m not sure if…"

"I have a better idea," Erik says. "I bet Emma knows Moreau." She had started out in politics by cozying up to the security administration, and still maintained many of her old contacts. "Have her go see him in person and explain that we’re not asking him to reference anything sensitive. Just a quote about absurdity of questioning Charles’ loyalty would be a huge help."

Darwin nods. "I’ll ask her as soon as I get back in the office. Even if she doesn’t know him personally she should know his staff." He turns back to Charles, face serious. "Thank you for being so honest Charles, I appreciate that. I know it can’t be easy to talk about this."

Charles shrugs. "My mother always said that one needed to air out the dirty laundry on occasion. Otherwise the house gets musty."  

Darwin snorts as he starts packing up his laptop. "Your mother sounds like she would be good at crisis management."

"Oh, I don’t know about that. Most of her life was a crisis, really," Charles says, uncrossing his arms and sitting back on the couch. He’s leaning close enough now that his shoulder brushes against Erik’s. "Nearly all of it of her own making."

"Well, that’s one way to stay in business. I’m going to head back and see what we can do about getting some quotes on record about your good standing in the community and love of animals and small children. Both of you should keep quiet for now and we’ll see what happens." 

Charles nods, offering Darwin his hand as he gets up to go. "Thank you, Armando, I feel better knowing you’re handling this. The last thing I want is—well, obviously it’s a very silly distraction when you both should be working on more important things."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Darwin says, laughing as he nods towards Erik. "Do you realize how much idiotic shit he says and does during the average week? This is nothing, I’m sure it’ll blow over soon. Really, it’s good to get it out now rather than having it pop up as a surprise during the actual election."

Charles nods, but doesn’t say anything in response, and Erik can’t help wondering if he intends to stick around for the election. It’s a difficult time, even with Genosha’s shortened cycle and funding limits. He saw plenty of relationships in his own campaign crack under the pressure last season. 

Erik walks Darwin out to the building’s entrance, both of them checking that there aren’t any reporters hiding in the bushes before he goes.

"So, that was… rough," Erik says, finding Charles back at the kitchen table when he returns.

"Tell me about it," he replies, letting out a sigh and sinking back in his chair a little.

"I get the feeling your arrival in Genosha was much different from my own."

"Hm," Charles agrees, nodding as he looks away. "Mine involved a lot of hospital time and semi-hostile interrogations. They don’t like to take chances with telepaths."

"That’s bullshit," Erik says, the familiar glow of righteous indignation rising in his chest. "You have more reason than most to hate humanity and want to escape the United States."

Charles' eyes come back into focus at that, narrowing in on Erik's face as he shakes his head. "No, Erik, it’s not. It’s good that they’re so cautious. The risk of letting in a sleeper agent is too great." He presses his lips together. "Can you imagine the damage I could do if I weren’t a true defector? The secrets I could have stolen?"

"Plenty of other mutations can be equally dangerous."

Charles shrugs. "Maybe. It wasn't that bad, really. My sister was already here so she could vouch for me... but they are very thorough." He laughs, looking rueful. "It's amazing really, the lengths they have to go to. They used other telepaths to vet me, obviously, but I was too powerful to do it safely one-on-one so they formed a chain that went beyond my range, all the way out to the mainland. And then later they had another group of agents check the first to be sure their memories hadn’t been tampered with."

Erik blinks. "Your range is _larger_ than the _entire island?"_

Charles lets out a breathy laugh. "No. Well, sort of. It’s dependent on a lot of factors. My control gets less fine as I get further and further away from the person in question, and it also varies with the individual. I have a much easier time locating people I already know or have an emotional connection to. Like I can usually get a general read on where my sister is at any given moment, although she prefers that I call her instead."

"What about me?"

Charles dips his head, looking down at the table as his cheeks redden. "Um, well. I can already find you pretty easily. It’s like—like this vague pressure at the back of my head. I reach out and there you are."

Erik pauses, a little surprised. "Is that—normal?"

Charles shrugs, looking down as he traces the edge of the table with his thumb. "There's not really a baseline, everyone's different."

"What’s that mean exactly? How much do you pick up from me?" Erik asks, trying to keep the question casual and not accusatory. "Can you feel my emotions? Hear my thoughts?"

Charles shakes his head. "No, not thoughts, and not any clear emotions. Not unless I actively focus on you. But if you were really upset about something I would probably get a vague sense of it."

Okay, that's... not so bad. It's a little freaky that Charles can sense him long-distance, but it's not that different from him being able to guess at Erik's mood based on his body language or tone of voice. Still, it's a little startling that Charles is already that tuned into him. Erik smiles, deciding to play off his earlier wariness with a joke. "It might get irritating if you can pick up on my moods. I spend most of the day angry."

"I doubt it," Charles says, glancing up at him and doing that smile where he bites his lip at the same time. "I enjoy your strops, honestly. They’re so satisfyingly righteous."

"I think you mean _self_ -righteous."

"Self-confident."

Erik smiles. "So... uh, that might make it hard to ever throw you a surprise party."

Charles smiles back, his eyes softening. "Thank you."

"For the party I haven’t planned yet?"

"For not being upset. About me reading you basically all the time."

Erik shrugs. "It’s not like you can help it if it’s passive. And I know how to block, I can put up a wall if I want."

Charles' smile falls away, his face growing serious. "Erik, if you do, I promise I will never break it. No matter what. If you want to keep me out all you have to do is put up a ‘keep out’ sign."

Erik nods, trying to match Charles’ serious tone. "Thank you, I appreciate that." He pauses a moment, looking into Charles’ eyes. They look very bright suddenly, the glow from the window catching the blue of his irises and refracting into a dozen different shades. Erik could probably stare at him for another hour or more, but he catches himself, turning away to gather the empty mugs from the table. "Uh, how about some breakfast? Since apparently we’re staying in."

"That would be lovely. Do you want some help?"

"Sure. Why don’t you chop up some peppers and onions and I’ll make us an omelet." He goes to the refrigerator, examining his vegetable drawer and finding several likely candidates inside.

"Oh, I’m so glad you can cook," Charles says, smiling brightly as Erik starts handing him ingredients.

They work together companionably for a while, not talking aside from the occasional request to pass a knife or a cheese grater. Erik’s always found cooking very calming, the small space of the kitchen completely under his control even if the world outside is in chaos.

They’re almost done, the omelet sealing together nicely with the vegetables and cheese inside when Charles stops what he’s doing. He’s standing over the stove, watching the eggs cook while Erik is putting the unused ingredients away. Erik sees him jolt, his hand balling up in a fist as his elbow bends inward at a painful angle.

"Shit _—_ " Charles reaches across his body to grab his right shoulder, cradling his arm and dropping the spatula in the process. It clatters to the floor, splattering oil across the tile. "Ah, _fucking hell_."

Erik slams the refrigerator door and hurries back to Charles’ side before realizing that he has no idea what happened. "What’s wrong?" he asks. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, not—nothing’s wrong," Charles says, gritting his teeth and leaning back against the counter as he rubs his elbow.  "It’s only— _gah_. It’s only a spasm, a cramp. I get them sometimes. It’s been a while since I had them in my hands though." He takes a deep breath as he tenses again, his fingers clenching into a fist as he rubs his wrist. "Dammit, not today, not today, _come on._ "

"What can I do?" Erik asks, stooping to pick up the spatula and depositing it in the sink. He reaches out to put a steadying hand on Charles’ good side and Charles immediately turns into him, leaning heavily against his shoulder. 

"Help me get over to the couch without falling— _Jesus Christ_ , that is painful."

Erik gets his arm under Charles’ shoulders and helps him out of the kitchen. Charles pauses repeatedly on the way to curse as his muscles clench again. Erik is strongly tempted to get an arm under Charles’ knees and carry him across the room, but he’s not sure Charles would appreciate that. He’s also not sure he could actually manage it without dropping him.

When they finally make it to the couch Charles is panting from the exertion. He reaches out with one hand and awkwardly drops to the cushions on his side, still cradling his left elbow with his other arm. "Ugh, dammit."

Erik kneels down to sit on the floor so he’s level with Charles’ head, resting his arms on the cushions as Charles wipes a hand across his mouth. His face looks worn, the lines around his eyes and mouth deepened by the grimace twisting his lips.

"Is it a side effect?" Erik asks. He tentatively puts his hand on the side of Charles’ neck, feeling the tension there and the occasional jolt as his muscles twitch. He’s wary about accidentally making it worse, but Charles doesn’t seem to mind the touch, turning his face so it’s hidden slightly in Erik’s palm.

"It’s because of my back. It's sort of like... like the nerves start firing at random and they overload."

"It seems really painful…"

"That's because it is," Charles says, frowning as he uses his other hand to extend and flex his right fingers. They quickly ball up into a fist again when he lets go, like the tendons are pulled tight. "I get them in my calves sometimes, like a charley horse. But I haven’t had them in my hands in a while. It can be stress related, but I thought I’d… grown out of them. It’s been years now."

"Sorry," Erik says. "About the stress."

Charles shakes his head absently. "It’s not your fault." His lip twists and he shifts his grip on his arm, pulling it tight against his chest. "Oh, _come on—_ give me a fucking break here! Why today of all days?"

"What’s today?" Erik asks, slipping his arm under Charles’ shoulders in an effort to support him without restricting his movements. He’s not sure if it’s helpful or not, but Charles doesn’t push him away.

"It’s—" he hisses in pain and lets out a long frustrated sigh before continuing. "I have a thing tonight. Nothing major but it can’t be rescheduled. One our big name funders is in town and I’m supposed to go to dinner with him and some other university people. They like to have me talk up the genetics department to the bigwigs, since that’s usually what they’re interested in. I can skip it if I have to but I’d really rather not."

"Is there anything you can take? Any medication?"

Charles sighs. "There is, but it’s the same thing I take for nerve pain and I don’t want the side effects. Makes me feel all foggy." He twists his wrist and stretches his arm cautiously, moving slowly like he's afraid of setting off another spasm. "I used to have days where it’d be continuous, off and on for hours. Taking a nap used to help though, if I could fall asleep. Maybe if I lie down for a bit they’ll go away. Then I should be fine for tonight."

"Do you have any other pain killers?"

"Yes, can you go find my bag? I think I left it on the chair in your room. I’ve got all my pills in there if you could just fish out the plastic bag."

Erik goes looking and finds Charles’ gray shoulder bag on the floor next to his bed. There’s a big gallon plastic bag inside which is stuffed full of orange pill bottles and blister packs. A lot of them aren’t labeled, but Charles seems to know what everything is when Erik brings the bag back to him. He examines the bottles inside, picking out the ones he wants while Erik fills up a glass of water in the kitchen.

"Thanks," Charles says, smiling tiredly and tossing back two huge looking blue pills. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "They’re already slowing down, I just need to relax. It’ll be fine."

"I’m sure," Erik says, nodding. He’s relieved that Charles seems to be calming down. He’s never seen him angry like that before, and he hates the helpless feeling of not being able to do anything to help.

"Do you mind if I takeover your bedroom?" Charles asks, rubbing his wrist and uncurling his fingers again. "I’m afraid if I sleep out here it will only make my back hurt."

Erik helps Charles stand up again and together they make their way into Erik’s bedroom. He sits next to Charles as he stretches out on the bed, reluctant to leave him until he's sure he'll be all right. "About that dinner, is there anything—I mean, would it help if I came with you?"

"Uh—" Charles says, grimacing and looking away like he’s searching for a way to let Erik down easily. He rolls his shoulders, turning this way and that before settling down on his side. "Your staff might have things to say about us appearing in public again so soon."

"Screw ‘em," Erik answers. "I’m not hiding anything. I told you that. And it’s not exactly public if we’re going to some expensive dinner club."

Charles smiles. "I do appreciate the sentiment, dear, but I don’t think you’d like the guest list."

"Why? Who is this bigwig, exactly?"

"He’s a VP at a US biomed company. I’m sure you hate them. Their record isn’t clean, but then none of the genetics corporations are. This group is trying to invest in ‘ethical’ genetic research though, which means Genosha."

"How do you know it’s genuine and they’re not just whitewashing their record? Do they run labs in the US?"

"Not directly, but they have investments."

Erik makes a disgusted noise. "Genuine indeed."

"Hm, you know..." Charles pauses as he rolls over, looking thoughtful as he gets comfortable on his side. "Hm, having you come might actually be… well, the thing is, I’ve met this guy before and he’s fascinated with mutant culture. He started rhapsodizing to me about the Genoshan music the last time he was here. If you came along, I bet he’d consider it a real ‘authentic’ trip, not just us showing him the things we _want_ him to see or being careful not to offend his delicate human sensibilities…"

"You want me to be the bit of exotic mutant color?"

"Well, it sounds terrible when you put it that way..." Charles shrugs and rolls over again, flipping so his back is to Erik and he has to turn his head to look at him. "More like you could keep him from getting too comfortable, you know? I don’t want this trip to only flatter his egos."

Erik smiles. "Well, I can’t promise on the results, but I would certainly love to come needle his conscience."

"Why not—okay. Dinner will be a 7. I have to go back to my place to change, but I can call a taxi. Meet me there at 6:30 and we’ll go together? And then you can be my excuse if I need to leave early."

"Great."

"And now," Charles says, closing his eyes. "I should really sleep."

"Okay," Erik says, but still doesn’t get up to leave, watching as Charles gets settled and quiets down. He ends up tossing and turning again in a few minutes, cursing as his hand starts tightening up again. Erik does his best to comfort him by rubbing his back and shoulder, but he's not sure he's helping any. He strokes Charles’ hair out of his eyes, wishing there was something he could do. "You said haven't had cramps like this in a while?"

"No, not in my upper body. Not since I was first recovering," Charles says, reaching for a pillow and pulling it down so he can hug it to his chest, half-lying on top of it so it's supporting his side and shoulders. "It might be a bad sign."

"A sign of what?"

"Nothing. Just. More of the same issues I've been having."

"You told me before, when we first met, that you were having some... mobility problems."

"Yes, it's related to that. My hands have been getting weaker, regressing, which means it’s getting harder for me to use a cane to get around."

"Oh. Is it—serious, or...?"

Charles sighs. "I'm really tired Erik."

"Right, sorry. Um, am I bothering you? If I stay?"

"Oh, don't stay," Charles replies, making a vague shooing motion. "I'm fine now, really. I just need to rest for a bit. I'm sure you have things you need to do. Go deal with the fallout of being outed."

"I can't be outed if I wasn't in the closet in the first place," he says, standing.

Charles laughs, shaking his head and then turning his face into the pillow. "Go away, Erik."

"Okay, okay," he says, getting up as Charles closes his eyes. He pauses in the doorway, still reluctant to leave. His chest feels heavy again and the words are back, making him feel like he’ll choke if he doesn’t say anything. "Listen, I wanted to tell you—I care about you a lot."

Charles snorts. "I know, Erik, thank you. Now go away so I can get some sleep."

______________

Erik refills Charles' glass of water and checks on him one more time before leaving. He's asleep by then, or pretending to be, his forehead still creased with tension as he lies on his side in the dark bedroom.

Emma is in her office already, evidently expecting him.

"Glad to see you’re working hard," he says, throwing his jacket over her desk as he sits down.  

"Politics is all about the overtime—rumor has it there’s a no-confidence vote in the works."

Erik blinks, leaning his elbows on Emma's desk as he leans across it toward her. " _What_."

She nods. "Yup, and it might happen as soon as Monday or Tuesday."

"Jumping the gun a bit aren’t they? That makes no sense, there’s no way there'll be enough votes—why would—unless."

"That’s exactly what I thought." Emma says, nodding in approval.

"This isn’t really coming from the opposition, is it?"

"I don’t have confirmation yet, but that’s what I’m assuming. It’s Adler."

"It’s certainly possible," Erik says, thinking it over. "She has her tendrils everywhere, even deep inside the other parties. If she manages to force a vote early it could kill any anti-Coalition momentum we’ve managed to whip up and also neutralize me."

"Right. It’s exactly what I would do. Pull the rug out from under the Brotherhood and turn the media narrative from a growing legislative revolt to Adler’s triumph in the face of some minor parliamentary obstruction. It will make everyone reluctant to challenge her again and also put her in a position of strength before the election season even begins."

"Not to mention force me to publicly declare whether I’m with the Coalition or not."

"That too."

"Fuck, is the opposition really dumb enough to go along with that? Surely they won’t let her play them like puppets."

Emma laughs. "Are you serious? She has their strings all tucked away in her back pocket. There’s a reason she’s been PM for going on twenty-five years."

"She is a tough old biddy," Erik says, unable to prevent the swell of respect he feels for Adler’s ironclad control of the Assembly. Emma snorts in response.

"Speaking of party BS, there’s been some grumbling about you unilaterally organizing the rally yesterday. It’s only a few posts on the Brotherhood forums so far, but a minor faction is threatening to break away."

Erik shakes his head, wondering why Emma would even pay attention to Brotherhood members posting on the internet. "What else is new? There's always been a faction that hates me for running for office in the first place."

"Well, Angel seems to think this might be more of a problem since they’re calling her your stooge and accusing you both of hijacking the movement to finance your selfish dreams of higher office."

"Whatever. Let them break off and form their perfect ideologically pure Brotherhood then. They won’t get any traction unless someone higher up joins them, and Wyngarde isn’t going to get involved in silly infighting when he needs to be focusing on the election. He’s not going to risk splitting his base right now."

"I hope you’re right," she says, rolling her eyes. "You know how I despise intra-party politics."

"I know. Let Angel handle it, there’s no reason for you to get involved."

"She already told them to stop whining pointlessly and take it to the Organizing Committee if they’re pissed."

"Oh, wonderful," Erik says, rubbing his forehead. "That means I’ll have to come in for a public shaming session and let everyone yell at me."

"If it keeps the Brotherhood intact, two hours of pointed self-criticism doesn’t seem so terrible."

"Try it some time."

"No thank you," Emma says. She gives him a look, one of her serious measuring looks he dreads. "Shall we talk about your not-so-secret boyfriend?"

"Sure," Erik says, aiming for breezy. "Why not? Things are going good, you know, aside from the whole gossip bullshit."

"Uh huh."

"I told him I cared about him this morning and he didn't say anything back."

Emma wrinkles her nose. "Ouch. Well, he probably doesn't realize what an emotionally-constipated child you are yet. Give it time."

"I'm not emotionally constipated—"

"Please." She says, rolling her eyes. "Be serious, Erik."

He stares at her for a long minute, watching as she runs her fingers through her hair again. "Any ideas who the source might be?"

"I have a hypothesis."

"Because as soon as I find out I'm firing them." Emma laughs, but Erik isn't in a humorous mood. "It's a fucking breach of confidentiality and a huge liability for our team. I can't be constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering who's informing on me to the press."

"Which leak are we talking about?" she asks. "Because by my estimation we have several."

 "Well, for starters, there's the 'highly-placed' asshole who said Charles and I were seen 'snuggling' all around town—"

"That could have been anyone," she says, glancing down to examine her nails. "You can't trust how a gossip blog describes its sources."

"When I find out who it is I'm going to either fire them, or get them fired, which ever I have the authority to do." His anger from this morning is coming back, remembering Charles’ worn resigned look. He pounds his fist on her desk, making her jump. "I don't care if it was someone in this office, or an Assembly worker, or the fucking Hawk and Dove wait staff!"

"Calm down," Emma snaps. "It wasn't your poor waitress. _I'm_ the source. I emailed that blog pretending to be one of your interns."

He's actually surprised, his mouth dropping open before he finds words again. "Emma, how dare you—did you _write_ that trash?"

"Of course not!" She makes a face, her lip curling at the very idea. "Is my writing ever that convoluted and twee? The blogger had already posted on twitter about ID'ing Xavier at the rally. All I did was send a one sentence tip about you two canoodling around the Hill and let her imagination do the rest of the work."

He hits the desk again. "There was no _canoodling_ , snuggling, necking, or any other cutesy euphemisms going on."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says, voice sliding into viciousness. "I meant I told her you were _enthusiastically fucking_ your scholastic boytoy." She’s getting that smug look he hates, the one she wears whenever she’s steamrolling over his objections.

Erik realizes he’s shaking and has to take a deep breath to tamp down on his anger. "What were you thinking? Do you realize that this may have completely undermined everything I was trying to do yesterday? Instead of talking about the Brotherhood or the budget or Adler’s policies like I wanted them to the entire news corps is currently obsessing about my sex life."

"They weren’t going to talk about anything substantive anyway and you know it. You know what else I’ve done?" she asks, reaching out to poke him in the chest with her sharp nails. "I’ve completely turned your old image on its head and softened you at a key moment in front of the entire island. What was your speech yesterday if not an attempt to re-introduce yourself as a compassionate man-of-the-people? Well guess what, the people like when their politicians have families. They want to feel like they know you, like you’re a friend or a neighbor they can joke and gossip about. A photo of you making doe-eyes at your boyfriend does exactly that."

Erik swallows, clenching his fist when he sees that his hands are still shaking. "You also managed to drag Charles’ past out for the vultures to pick over."

She closes her eyes, pausing for a moment. "I know. That wasn’t my intension."

"Aren’t you supposed to predict _exactly_ this kind of backlash—"

"We’ll deal with it, Erik. Darwin already has a plan. I’m going to see Moreau tonight and by tomorrow all of that—it will blow over. No one reads the _X-Daily_ anyway, it has zero credibility."

"I should fire you," he says, not sure if he actually means it.

"Yeah, right," she says, rolling her eyes. "Coalition member or not, you still want to get reelected."

"I'm not so sure I do if it involves blind items and gossip blogs and my staff completely destroying my credibility for their own perverted amusement."

"You have too much credibility by half," Emma snaps. "That's your whole problem, Erik. Everyone thinks you're this crazy celibate monk who only gets hard for mutant rights."

"I'm not going to apologize for standing by my principles and doing my job."

"I'm not saying you have to!" she says, throwing her hands up. "I just want, like, one fluff piece for every four op-eds about how you're a crazy radical and the Brotherhood's platform will get Genosha carpet-bombed if it's ever enacted in full. You want to play in the big leagues? Get on a powerful committee? Or, god-forbid, a cabinet-level position? Then you need to do this."

"Fluff pieces aren't going to appoint me to the Foreign Policy Committee."

"No, but they will keep getting you elected. You have to learn how to make high-level connections and keep them, Erik." She sounds deeply annoyed now, like this is a rant she’s been saving up. "Politics are not just about policy. You have to learn to cozy up with the big boys or you’ll never get anything substantial done. Yet over the past two and a half years you have show _time and again_ that you are not capable of that kind of finesse. So you need a spouse who is."

Erik opens his mouth to interrupt, but Emma keeps talking over his objections.  "You _do_. You need someone who knows how to play politics. Someone who can help you move from being a bit player in a fringe party to a real insider who gets invited to soirees with the Ministers. Do you want a seat at the table? Or would you rather spend the rest of you short career make impassioned speeches and proposing dead-on-arrival bills that score points with your base but go nowhere?"

Erik smiles, not nicely. He doesn’t like it, but at least he understands what she was trying to achieve now. "I think you've miscalculated, Emma. I want to influence policy, of course, but I'm not going to compromise myself to do it."

"You're in the wrong damn career then. Politics is about compromise. Unless you control the legislature, you'll never get anywhere if you can't work with the other parties."

Erik ignores that, continuing like he hadn’t heard her. "And anyway, Charles is an academic, he's not going to want to be arm candy at stupid state dinners."

Emma runs her hands through her hair, tugging at it in frustration. "Do you even realize who you're dating? Didn't you stalk him on Facebook, or anything?"

"Facebook? Wouldn't that be kind of creepy?"

"You're so _bad_ at this, no wonder you never get laid. Charles comes from _money_ , Erik. He knows how to schmooze and how ingratiate himself. How do you think the university labs have as much funding as they do? Half of it comes from private donors Charles brings in. The man knows how to raise money and how to campaign. I know exactly what I'm doing. That's why you hired me in the first place."

Erik is brought up short, thinking about the dinner he’s going to tonight with Charles, and their conversation earlier. _They like to have me talk up the genetics department to the bigwigs._ "I don’t—that’s not—I highly doubt he'll want to be on the road campaigning with me when he could be at home with his test tubes."

"Maybe you should try asking him that instead of making assumptions."

"All right, all right," Erik says, raising his hands in surrender and conceding to her—at least temporarily. "I'm sorry I ever doubted your ability to manipulate me and my electorate."

"Don't you dare forget it again."

"Now you listen to me." Erik says, some of his heat from earlier returning. "If you want this relationship to work and fulfill all your Machiavellian dreams, you can't be behind the scenes forcing it. No more harmless 'tips' or blind items. If people are talking, let them talk, but don't you dare go stirring the pot again yourself."

Emma sighs and waves a hand at him. "Fine, I'll leave all the stirring to you then. I guess I'll go work on something boring like finding out if this idiotic no-confidence vote is actually happening."

"Great." Erik says, getting up. He pauses, not wanting to leave angry. He doesn’t like when they fight; not for real. It throws him off his game. "You do realize this is all your fault right?" he asks. "Like the whole dating thing."  

Emma has gone back to her laptop now and she doesn't look up from her screen, but one eyebrow twitches. She continues typing to show how little attention she's playing him. "I'm sorry, was I the one that invited him to the rally?"

"You messaged him first."

"Uh huh, and I regret that immensely now. Let me tell you. The depths of my guilt are just—so deep." She looks up and smirks. "I’m not going to lie though," she adds, some of her usual playfulness returning. "I’m kind of enjoying the news coverage. It's like the Channel 34 News Team is doing my gossiping for me!"

"That must be great for you."

"It is, it really is," she says, nodding her head. "I've learned more about your romantic history in the past hour than I ever have digging inside your skull. By the way, did you know that you and I were once 'romantically linked'?"

"What?"

"Yes! Or so says the _X-Daily_ , that pinnacle of mutant reportage!"

Erik clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, there was that time, you know, after the fundraiser with..."

Emma's eyes narrow. "Are you forgetting our pact about that night?"

"I—no. What? What night?"

"Good," she says, flicking her hair off of her shoulder with a dismissive toss of her hand. "I’d hate to have to threaten to quit so soon after you threatened to fire me."

Erik raises his hands in surrender and decides it’s time to make his getaway. As he walks down the hallway hears her call after him, "Hey, try not to fuck this one up like all of your previous relationships."

"Your confidence in me is a great comfort, Emma," he replies, shouting it over his shoulder.

______________

Erik almost has second thoughts about the dinner—this could backfire pretty spectacularly if there’s one dumb patron with a camera phone and Darwin did tell them to ‘lie low’—but then Charles is so chipper when he hops into the taxi that Erik completely forgets his misgivings.

"I really feel a million times better, promise," Charles says, adjusting the sleeves of his extremely well-cut suit. "I haven’t had a spasm in hours and you can’t back out now. I’m looking forward to introducing you and embarrassing everyone. It’ll be fun."

They get to the restaurant before Erik can muster up a decent rebuttal, and then he’s being ushered into the dark interior of a trendy spot that is trying entirely too hard to convince its rich patrons that they’re getting their money’s worth. There’s a fake waterfall behind the hostess stand, a shimmering wall of water falling into a modified clawfoot bathtub full of clear glass stones. Erik finds it deeply irritating for reasons he can’t properly articulate.  

Charles seems oblivious, spotting someone on the other side of the waterfall and abandoning Erik at the coat check line.

Erik watches through the falling water as he goes over to shake the hand of a large, hairy man. He must be Charles’ counterpart from Gen U, but Erik finds it hard to believe the man is in education. He looks like he’d be more comfortable chopping lumber than teaching a graduate seminar. Charles glances over at Erik as he shakes the lumberjack’s hand, but Erik decides to keep his distance for now, pretending he’s busy asking the coat check lady something.

He’s just handing over his jacket when he hears a very familiar, very obnoxious laugh from behind him. It’s the smug, self-satisfied sort of laugh that Erik regularly hears from a specific blue mutant who he would really prefer never to see outside of a legislative context.

Erik glances over his shoulder and is unable to stop the sneer spreading across his face when he spots Hank McCoy passing behind him with an unfamiliar man. McCoy goes right up to Charles and cheerfully claps him on the shoulder, causing Erik to accidentally crumple the paper ticket the woman behind the counter had just handed him. Her feathers bristle in concern at his dark look. "Sorry," he mumbles, stuffing the ticket in his pocket. "Saw someone I wasn’t expecting."

Erik waits until the others are being escorted to their table before coming back to grab Charles' arm and pull him into the alcove behind the waterfall.  "Why didn’t you tell me _McCoy_ of all people would be here?" he asks, practically hissing it.

Charles laughs. "Because I actually wanted you to come. Sorry, dear, do try to be civil."

"No promises," Erik says, clenching his teeth as he hears McCoy laughing again in the background. Just the sound of his voice puts Erik on edge. Charles smiles again, and while it’s a look that includes Erik, it’s also at his expense and only serves to heighten his annoyance.

"Stop it," he grumbles.

"Sorry," Charles says again, not sounding very sorry. "Come on, at least let me introduce you to the others."

Charles steers Erik over to the table where the hostess has seated their party, keeping his hand on Erik’s back like he thinks he’ll try to bolt otherwise. The other three are standing together making pleasantries, apparently waiting for Charles to arrive before sitting down. When he spots him, McCoy gives Erik a flabbergasted expression of surprise that warms Erik’s heart through and through. He tries to give him a benign smile in response

"Hello, Graham," Charles says, addressing the unfamiliar man who must be the human they’re all here to wine and dine. "I see you’ve already met Logan?"

He nods, smiling at Charles and the lumberjack in turn. The human is wearing a sharp black suit and white shirt with an anomalously blue and green floral handkerchief tucked into his jacket pocket. It’s the kind of fabric that tourists buy at the dockside market and the airport, the colors copied from the Genoshan flag. Seeing it in this human’s pocket makes Erik take an immediate dislike to the man, not that he was especially disposed to like him in the first place. 

"You and Hank have met before, haven’t you?" Charles asks, continuing the introductions, and the human nods again.

"Certainly I remember Hank," he says, smiling as he claps McCoy on the shoulder. He manages to do so without showing any visible disgust at McCoy’s blue fur. But then if they’ve met before he’ll have had time to adjust. "And I’m so glad you could join us, Deputy McCoy. I was hoping to get to talk to you again."

"Oh, please call me Hank," McCoy says, recovering enough to smiling ingratiatingly back at him.

Charles is smiling too, looking like he’s enjoying himself entirely too much as he finally introduces Erik. "But I don’t think you know Hank’s colleague from the Assembly," Charles says, his hand moving to Erik’s shoulder. "Erik Lehnsherr. Erik, this is Graham Richardson of Applied Genomics."

Erik tries not to bristle at being introduced as McCoy’s colleague as he shakes Richardson’s hand. For his part, Richardson smiles widely, recognition lighting up his face. "Deputy Lehnsherr! I thought it was you, fantastic!" His handshake is rough and enthusiastic, both hands clasping Erik’s own. "I’ve followed your career for some time."

"Oh, really?" Erik asks. He can’t imagine that one would get a particularly flattering impression of him from watching the human media. 

"Yes! Actually I caught part of your speech yesterday. I wish I’d known it was happening, I'd have flown in earlier so I could attend in person."

"It was very last minute," Erik says, not sure what to make of this enthusiasm.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees McCoy’s head tilting back, apparently rolling his eyes for the benefit of Charles’ burly coworker. "Pity, you missed quite a show."

Erik smoothly ignores McCoy’s input. "I can’t imagine the coverage you saw was particularly flattering."

Richardson looks slightly embarrassed. "I admit I watched a stream to avoid having to listen to the usual silly handwringing on the American channels. You’re quite famous, you know—"

"Lehnsherr’s always had a talent for garnering high ratings," McCoy says.

"But I promise you have as many human admirers as you do detractors."

Erik shows his teeth. "I find that hard to believe, but then I haven’t spent time in the company of humans in years."

"All the more reason for us to arrange trips like this more often," Charles declares, deftly separating Erik from the human as they begin to sit down.                      

Charles somehow maneuvers things so that Richardson is sitting at the head of the table with McCoy and the lumberjack next to him as a buffer, and Erik and Charles on the other end of the table. McCoy is at Erik’s right, and as they’re shuffling into place he says softly, "Really Lehnsherr, I had no idea you were—"

"Really, McCoy," Erik says. "I didn't think you'd be the type to put much stock in gossip."

McCoy clears his throat. "I was going to say, were friends with Dr. Xavier. But I suppose everyone knows that now." He turns away before Erik can get in a response.

"The Dean and I were just discussing the wonderful seafood you get here in Genosha," Richardson says, nodding toward Logan, Charles’ colleague. Erik didn’t catch if that was a first name or a last name.

"Dean?" Erik repeats, turning his head toward the man in question. He’s more than a little surprised. He doesn’t look like he could manage being headmaster of a small elementary school, much less the administrator of a major university department.

"Yes, Fine Arts," Logan answers. His smile has an edge to it like he overheard Erik’s thoughts. Erik makes a mental note to ask Charles later if he’s telepathic. "By the way, I’m also interested to see you here, Deputy. _Very_ interested."

Erik responds with one of his best fuck-off smiles while Richardson, apparently oblivious, says, "It _is_ good to talk to someone in the humanities. So much of my day gets eaten up in dry statistics and obsessive details of experimental protocol. Uh, no offense intended toward the sciences," he adds, glancing over at Charles, who inclines his head to show that none was taken.

Erik lets the conversation flow without adding much. He’s not really in the mood to cater to the puerile questions of a human with a mutant fetish, and his attention is divided anyway. He finds himself watching Charles closely, looking for signs of fatigue or pain as Charles examines the menu and discusses the wine selection with the others.

Thankfully they’re soon busy ordering drinks and food. The human selects a pricy imported fish despite his earlier comments about appreciating native Genoshan cooking. Erik orders the fish stew, which is something of a specialty for the neighborhood. Charles orders a salad, which makes Erik give him a look, worried that he’s feeling peckish. But Charles only shakes his head, waving off his concern.

Erik’s stew is disappointing. It’s been dressed up and purified in such a way as to lose all the charm of the original peasant dish. The broth is thin instead of hearty and comforting, and he finds himself eating half and then pushing the remnants around the bowl. He should have known better and ordered a steak.

Erik’s still picking at his soup when the conversation shifts abruptly from safe topics to dangerous ones. He’s frowning down at a lump of meat that looks suspiciously like an oyster when something Richardson says gets Erik's attention.

"That’s why I’m trying to shift us _fully_ to ethical research. The profit argument is complete bunk. There’s no reason we can’t switch completely by investing in places like Genosha, especially now that the international situation is more stable—"

Erik laughs at that, cutting into the conversation. He thinks he sees Charles smile out of the corner of his eye. "Pray tell, what ‘ethical’ genetics research is being done aside from inside Genosha? I certainly don’t know of any."

Richardson leans forward over his plate, looking positively delighted by Erik’s attack. He taps his plate with his knife and says, "Precisely my point! There isn’t any, not truly, not yet, but with reform—"

"Reform?" Erik asks. "Do you really believe that the degrading and abusive conditions in the vast majority of human laboratories can ever be _reformed?_ "

"Maybe not," Richardson concedes. "I agree in many situations the best outcome is simply to shut down the facilities in question. But I also believe that ethical genetics research is _possible_ , and I have to believe that it’s worthwhile to push for proper controls." He starts ticking things off on his fingers. "Independent ethics boards, consent from all subjects involved, constant outside monitoring…"

McCoy nods, bobbing his head along with Richardson. "Simply extending the rules that govern human subject testing to mutants would be a major step."

"Yes!" Richardson agrees. "And I think we’re nearly there in Europe. The EU is seriously considering implementing the new Humane Experimental Guidelines. And many universities already require approval from an institutional review board for all new experiments."

"But the people on those boards are still _human_ ," Erik points out. "Not to mention, using _humane_ as a synonym for ‘ethical’ is downright ridiculous. Humanity’s primary defining characteristic is not compassion _,_ but xenophobia, stupidity and violence."

Logan snickers into his napkin at that while Richardson’s gives Erik a serious look. "Do you think so?"

"I hardly think that humans have a monopoly on violence," McCoy says, raising one eyebrow as he examines Erik over his wine glass.

"Really, Deputy?" Erik asks, trying his best to sound innocent. "Do share, what stories have you heard recently of mutants unjustly oppressing humanity?"

Logan lets out a barking laugh, slapping one hand down on the table as he takes a huge gulp from his glass. "Not recently, but I’ve heard you do a pretty good job yourself with the rhetorical violence, Lehnsherr."

Richardson lets out a chuckle at that and nods at Erik. "What was the phrase you used last year? A new dawn for a new mutant Genosha? You’ve certainly made it harder for us to work here. I can’t tell you the gymnastics our accounting department has had to go through to get around the new regulations preventing us from touching anything government funded—"

"Not just in genetics, either," Logan says, turning to Erik with a look that’s somewhat unsettling. A moment ago the man was smiling, but now he seems irritated, as if Erik had personally inconvenienced him. He leans across the table toward Erik, looking less like a Dean of Fine Arts than ever and somehow managing to loom despite being shorter than him. "You know we used to have an exchange program with Oxford? Great experience for my students. Let them see Europe's masterpieces and do the grand tour, the whole shebang. But it was all federal grants, all of which are gone now because the organizers were human. Your little law has managed to fuck up all kinds of funding."

Erik lets his smile grow, distorting his features into an over-wide grin. He knows how to look threatening when he needs to as well. "I can’t speak directly to the vagaries of bureaucracy, but I can’t say I’m particularly upset to hear that universities and international corporations are having a more difficult time buying access to mutant bodies—"

"My _point_ is that it’s more than just questionable research you’ve scuttled—"

Charles clears his throat suddenly, interrupting them. He shakes his head with a quick jerk, decisively cutting off their building argument. Erik is not entirely sure if the gesture was directed at himself or Logan, but he shuts his mouth. He folds his arms and sits back as Logan does the same.

Charles lifts the after-dinner menu, waving it like a white flag.  "Gentlemen, sorry to interrupt, but I have a very important question—what are we getting for dessert?"

Erik lets the others order, trying to catch Charles' eye and failing. He reaches under the table to touch his knee, but Charles ignores him, keeping his face turned toward McCoy and smiling as he suggests the fruit tart.

Charles ignores him through the rest of their meal, staying quiet as they sip coffee and share a trio of fruit pastries. He tries not to take it personally. It's been a long day, he's probably tired. Charles does look strained. He keeps rubbing the bridge of his nose like maybe he has a headache, but Erik isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or not until Charles drops his spoon.

It falls to his saucer with a ringing clatter and Charles withdraws his hand, pulling it down into his lap. "Excuse me, clumsy!"

The rest of the table barely seems to notice, but Erik sees Charles grit his teeth as his arm tenses against his side. He grasps his right elbow with his other hand and frowns.

"Shoot, is that really the time?" Erik says, looking at the watch he isn’t wearing and standing up. "I’m afraid I have a very early morning, gentlemen."

"Oh, already? It was wonderful to meet you," Richardson says, holding out his hand.

Erik shakes it distractedly and then takes McCoy and Logan’s as well, trying not to be too obvious about checking on Charles. He looks unsteady as he rises to his feet as well, making his own excuses. Erik reaches for his arm, but Charles shakes him off.   

_I'm fine. Let’s just get out of here._

Erik quickly bundles Charles into his coat, and then into a taxi.

"Is it bad?" he asks as he climbs into the backseat behind him.

Charles hisses softly, but shakes his head. "Not as bad as earlier, I don’t think. I just want to get home."

They ride in silence, and Charles has his eyes closed most of the way. Erik has the uncomfortable feeling that Charles is mad at him, but it’s probably just the pain making him irritable.

When they arrive at his place, Charles pauses with his hand on the door handle. "Erik, I think you should head home."

"What? You don’t want me to come up?"

"It’s been a long day. I just want to go straight to bed."

Erik shrugs. "Bed sounds lovely. I don’t want to keep you up, well, I do but—"

Charles shakes his head. "No, I’m really—not in the mood. I'd just rather be alone for a bit."

"You’re not—" Erik cuts himself off before he can ask if Charles is angry with him. "I mean, sure. Of course. I’ll—call you?"

Charles doesn’t answer, but he nods once he’s out of the cab, pulling himself up slightly unsteadily.  

"Goodnight," Erik calls, watching him make his way up to the front door.

He gives the taxi drive his address and fidgets the entire way home, unable to shake the unsettled feeling that something is wrong.

He texts Charles goodnight when he gets back, hoping for some reassurance, but there’s no response. Maybe he fell asleep already. Whatever, it’s fine. Erik is not a child. If Charles wants to be alone he can handle that gracefully. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with their relationship. He said he was tired and that’s probably all it is.


	7. Chapter 7

Erik wakes up first thing in the morning to his phone ringing. He really should have turned it off the night before. He rolls over to check in case it's Charles.

It's not. It's Darwin, so he picks up anyway. He probably wants revenge for yesterday's madness. "Morning," he says, half mumbling it into his pillow.

"Did you seriously go out to dinner last night with Xavier, Hank McCoy and a _human CEO of a biotech company_?"

Erik pauses to think for a moment; did he? He really should have had some coffee before answering his phone. "He was only a vice president. Please tell me you didn't learn this from the morning paper."

"I didn't, which I can only interpret as evidence of a benevolent god. Emma heard it from someone in McCoy's office."

Erik flips over on his back, sighing in relief. "You had me worried for a second. Is there a point to this call, then?"

"I thought you might want an update on the media situation," Darwin says. "And I also wanted to ask if you consider me a freeloader."

"What?"

"Do you feel like I'm not working hard enough, Erik?" Darwin's voice has a tone of heavy sarcasm that he rarely takes with Erik, likely a sign that he's been up all night refreshing the news. "Am I not doing enough to earn my salary? Because you seem pretty determined to put me through my paces."

"Maybe I just enjoy seeing you in crisis mode. It's like watching, I don't know—" He struggles for a moment, searching for a good comparison. "Like a champion stallion at the racetrack."

"When have you ever been to a racetrack?"

Erik ignores him, warming to the metaphor. "Yes, a stallion. A majestic animal doing the job that it was born to do and excelling past all expectations—"

"That's nice. I'm taking the afternoon off."

"Good, you've been working too hard lately. Got to make time for your personal life."

"Do you want my media briefing or not?"

"Brief away."

"Okay, so overall the coverage of the rally is still highly positive. Footage has been featured on GBC and every other news program on the island, as well as front-page coverage in the _Hammer Post,_ _Genosha Today,_ and _Mutant Times._ They all hit the same notes—talking about the rise of the Brotherhood as a major political force. Endorsing Salvadore and the others was a good move since it kept the focus on the elections."

"Good, that's exactly what I wanted."

"On the other end of the spectrum, the _Workers Advocate_ ran an op-ed this morning that called for the Brotherhood to be outlawed for violating Article 14."

That makes Erik sit up, pushing back the blankets so he can run a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Uh-oh. Does it look like an official opinion?"

"Hard to say; it was signed by the editorial staff, so if it is, they were too nervous to put a League member's name on it. It actually lined up quite nicely with the _Post's_ coverage of the rumors, made them look more serious. Emma's pushing for the _Post_ to take a public stance on the issue—maybe even sign off on an endorsement for the Brotherhood. We'll see what happens."

"Okay, that would be helpful. Do you think they'd really try after the rally? We mobilized twenty-five thousand people in one night. There would be riots in the streets."

"It was more like twenty thousand, we're inflating the numbers." Erik scoffs, but Darwin ignores him. "But you're right, we're in a much better position now because of that."

"Right. Now what about Charles?"

"Well… about a third of the coverage has mentioned him, but mostly as a side note referring indirectly to rumors that you're, uh, involved. Emma came through for us on the telepath angle. The _Post_ contacted the Bureau, and got a very nice quote from Director Moreau where he essentially tells the _X-Daily_ not to do the Bureau's job and complains about ‘unsubstantiated and dangerous insinuations about loyal Genoshans.' I think that will keep it contained."

"Good, that's very good."

"You know there will always be people who don't trust him on principle, just like with Emma."

"I know."

"So long as you understand what you're getting into. There is one clip you might enjoy." Darwin laughs, a soft puff of air into the phone's speakers. "It's sort of a round-up. I'll send you a link."

Erik rolls himself out of bed after he hangs up and makes his way to the kitchen to get breakfast. He sets the coffeemaker to brew an entire pot before belatedly remembering that he's alone. While he's waiting for his coffee, he types and retypes several texts before decided to keep it short and simply asking, " _morning?_ " He regrets the question mark the instant he hits send. Why did he add that? It makes him sound plaintive, like he's sadly asking Charles if he's awake. Or willing to talk to him. Ridiculous, he's not the one being moody and inscrutable.

Erik still feels unsettled about last night. He's unsure what even went wrong. Charles seemed fine until the last half-hour or so, and Erik thought before that it was going pretty well, all things considered. He's still not sure what to make of Richardson, or his own part in entertaining him, but he did enjoy arguing and making the man face down some more strident mutant opposition. Most of his discomfort, though, is about his uncertainty over Charles, and what he's thinking. He hates being in relationships of unequal attraction, and he's starting to worry that he's already more invested than Charles is. He needs to rein in his emotions a little, but he's always been the type to fall fast, and fall hard, when he finds someone he really likes.

He stares at the phone for a few seconds, waiting in vain for it to buzz with a new message, before making himself put it down. Watched pots and all that. He resolves not to look at it anymore, and turns his attention to his laptop on the kitchen table instead. Darwin's email is at the top of his inbox as promised, with a link to a clip of GBC's late night show, _Mutant and Loud_.

It's from the opening monologue portion of the show, and Erik cringes as the host introduces a series of clips of various newscasters commenting on Charles' presence at the end of the rally. One of the cameras had caught actual blurry footage of the incriminating moment, and the same snippet gets shown over and over—Charles smiling as Erik steps back from the stage, his hand rising up to touch his own mouth and then Erik's cheek. Erik doesn't remember the part where he ducked his head and moved in close like he was about to kiss Charles before getting distracted by someone asking him a question. Still, it's not _that_ incriminating. From the way some people are going on you'd think he'd been caught with a sex tape. He probably has his own austere image to thank for that. It's titillating precisely because it seems so out of character for him.

A flood of anchors and vapid talking heads appears next, one after another, all singing variations on the same tune: "It was a great day for Lehnsherr politically and on stage—and also, perhaps, in the bedroom?"

The _Mutant and Loud_ host comes back after several excruciating minutes of this, mugging for the camera. "Let me just note that this is all based on a thirty-second clip and some anonymous quotes from campaign interns, all of whom admit they'd never even heard of the guy until yesterday. For all we know, Lehnsherr had some parsley in his teeth and the professor here was pointing it out..."

The stupid clip comes back on, then, slowed for dramatic effect as Charles raises his hand. There's a dewy look to his eyes, which is probably due to the light in the background and the slightly out-of-focus camera angle. "...pointing it out _sexily_. But that doesn't mean anything. Maybe this guy always looks like that when he's helping out a friendly acquaintance. I mean, god knows there's nothing more important to be discussing right now—like, say, the way changing demographics are gradually undermining decades of control by a single mutant political party and potentially forcing the complete transformation of our country's stagnated domestic and foreign policy. My god, our government might be on the verge of collapse, there could be a confidence vote _tomorrow,_ starting the first power transition since 1988, but, hold the phone, guys—Deputy Magnets here might have a boyfriend! And he's a _hottie!_ "

The host turns, shifting so the camera has to switch angles to stay with him. "Okay so, one other thing. I know I just ranted about gossipy media speculation based on specious facts, but obviously when I saw this guy's name I immediately googled him. And this—this is what came up as the very first hit—"

An image appears over the host's shoulder of Charles giving the camera a serious, smoldering look with one eyebrow lifted suggestively. "That is the picture on his bio on the Genosha University website—his department photo. As in, this is what an undergrad finds when they look up his email to send him an excuse about why they missed morning labwork. If my professors had looked like that I would have really earned those Cs."

Erik covers his face in embarrassment and closes the tab. He starts to text Charles, but then decides to wait until he receives an answer to his earlier message.

______________

When Erik arrives in the office, Emma is busy pouring over a pile of printouts, all stories about Erik's rally or the Brotherhood. "Darwin just gave me a briefing," she says, by way of explanation.

"Me too," Erik says.

The pile nearest to him shows the front page of the _X-Daily,_ with the stupid _Radical and Psycop_ headline. He sighs and picks it up, paging through the printouts underneath. They're all different websites, and most of them have lifted straight from the _X's_ article, copying the first few paragraphs, adding a few snarky embellishes and link-bait titles. "So was this all part of your long-range getting-me-to-date plot?"

Emma clears her throat, and her eyes slide away from him toward the window. "Not exactly…"

" _Really_? Didn't anticipate this, then?" he asks, holding up one of the pages with Charles' enlistment photo.

"It's less of a long game and more of a series of opportunistic improvisations."

"Uh-huh. So what's the plan now? How do we improvise?"

Her eyes meet his again, hardening as she says, "You should do an interview."

Erik snorts. "No."

"Darwin thinks so, too. We both do. It's a good idea."

"Darwin thinks that? Really? Did he tell you about the op-ed in the _Worker?_ Anything I say on the record right now could be dangerous. I can't give them rope to hang me with. And, anyway, I don't want to."

Emma grits her teeth. "I know you don't _want_ to, I'm telling you that you _need_ to. Look, there's already going to be a slate of ‘meet the Brotherhood' articles coming out this week. You need to be out there front and center as the face of the party."

Erik shakes his head, still not convinced. "Everyone knows me already. Too well. I don't need to be introduced. It's better for me to step back and let the others get the spotlight."

"Salvadore and Wyngarde need _you_ to make their introductions! They don't have your profile. They don't even have Azazel's profile!"

"Angel still wants me on radio silence."

"Angel isn't your campaign manager."

He shakes his head, giving her a smirk. "Neither are you; it's not campaign season yet."

"If you believe that we're already in trouble."

He raises one hand to signal defeat, or at least a truce. "Why don't we see what _they_ have to say about it first? All right?"

She presses her lips together but nods, glancing down to type a note on her phone. "Fine."

"I would just prefer to wait until some of this"—he nods his head at the stack of printouts—"this nonsense blows over. You know? And I already said my piece at the rally. That's enough sound bites to keep my face on TV for weeks."

She gives him a look. "Those sound bites are getting stale already. An interview could keep the pressure on inside the Assembly, and be a good distraction from picking over other...details. If we're not careful here the narrative is going to spin out of our control."

"There's not—the whole idea that we can control it at all is ridiculous and self-deluded. People will think what they want to think. The only people I care about reaching right now are inside this building."

"You can't keep dodging the media like this because you dislike being under the microscope. If you keep refusing to define yourself then you'll always be defined by other people."

Erik laughs, unable to stop himself. "Where did you get that chestnut? No, still no. I'm bad at one-on-one interviews, you know that. It's just as likely to hurt me as it is to help me. I hate having to—to _perform_ as myself."

"It's your best role. Do you want to keep eyes on your politics and off of your pants, or not?"

"Keep eyes off my pants?" he repeats, incredulous.

"Oh, like your metaphors are so great. Look, did Darwin tell you what else was in the _Worker_ today?"

Erik shakes his head. "No?"

"There was a pre-election insert about races to watch."

"Oh?" he says, sitting back in his chair. "That doesn't sound good."

"Yes, here it is!" Emma says, shifting through the piles until she finds the page she's looking for, a large folded tabloid sheet with a garish Genoshan flag logo emblazoned at the top, along with portrait photos of various League politicians. "It's got little profiles on all the League members who are thinking about running in contentious wards. And guess what's in here as the top ‘Ward to Watch'? The one with three fucking League members all jonesing to run?"

"Seriously?" Erik asks.

"That's right—Ward Seven! Your ward!" Emma gives him a shocked look, all innocent and wide-eyed, but Erik isn't in the mood to play games with her.

"Three of them? Really? Who have they got in there?"

"Ransome."

Erik snorts. "She's a lightweight."

"Also, Fred Dukes. Not light by any measure, metaphorical or literal."

"Didn't he just have a heart attack?"

"And, lastly, Jomo Kimane."

"I don't even know who that is."

"Sure you do, he's Deputy Mansour's security advisor. You met him at that thing last year."

"I do not remember that."

"Oh, come on. He's got—glasses. I don't know. You met him!"

"If that's the best they've got, I'm not too worried."

"The best—? Don't you get it, Lehnsherr? It's an insult. They're _mocking_ you. They're saying they don't need a good candidate. The League machine could take any old schmuck with his dick in his hand and get him into office. Of course, it'll be considerably less competitive once the Brotherhood is banned. This is what happens when you show the bull red six months before an election. The bull shows you its horns."

"Oh, really?" Erik says. His blood is pumping now, rushing in his ears and making him stand up, just to give himself something physical to do. He can feel his restless nervous energy coming back, the same energy that pushed him through the last punishing election cycle of constant speeches, junkets and glad-handing.

Emma stands up to match him, reaching out to poke him in the chest. "Yeah," she says, stabbing so sharply he can feel her fingernail through his shirt and undershirt. "And you know what? They're right. They _can_ take you that easily. So maybe you should suck it up and go make nice before both of us are out of a job."

"Or maybe I should gear up for a proper race," Erik says, reaching down to tap on the desk with his fist. "A proper competitive race!"

Emma's mouth opens and closes as she gapes at him. "What?"

"Let them run," he turns away, taking a step toward the door before changing his mind and turning back to her. "Let all three of them. Let them try! I want them to—" he pauses in the middle of an expansive sweep of his arm, noticing for the first time that Emma looks appalled by his excitement rather than jazzed. "Wait, why are you getting me all pumped up? I thought you didn't want me to go independent?"

"I don't!" Emma says, throwing up her hands. "I wasn't! I was trying to scare you, but your fear response is all fucked up!"

Erik sighs, some of his energy draining away without her encouragement. He shakes his head. "Yikes, how do you not know how to motivate me after all these years?"

"Everything motivates you, that's your problem. You don't know when to give in!"

Erik lets out a long puff of air and sits back down into his chair. "Yeesh, you're ridiculous. Oh, and, by the way, I still don't want to do an interview."

Emma opens her mouth to continue their argument, but there's a knock at her office door then, and the intern with the red glasses sticks his head inside. "Message for Deputy Lehnsherr," he says, sliding it over to Emma.

She dismisses him and opens the envelope, a smirk crossing her face. "You've been summoned."

"Great. By whom?"

"Munroe. Budget open season has begun. There's an opening in half an hour if you want to take it."

Erik takes a deep breath. This is where everything started going south last year. His last visit to the finance minister's office was not pleasant, and he doesn't relish the idea of repeating it. "I hate going up there, the altitude gives me a headache. Tell her to come here."

Emma gives him an exasperated look. "No. What's the point of riling her up? Making her come across the plaza is not going to do you any favors, Erik. She's the senior minister, you go to her office like every other deputy who wants to haggle."

She's right, but he never likes admitting that. "All right, all right. I'm just saying it would be funny."

"And counterproductive."

Erik pulls on his jacket on and takes the long underground hallway that connects the deputies' offices with the finance ministry across the street. Munroe's office is at the very top, overlooking the square with Assembly Hall at its center. It's a fantastic view, one of the best in the city, and there are already three other deputies admiring it when Erik arrives. He takes a seat and tries to be zen about it. She probably wants to annoy him to get him off balance, but he's not going to fall for that. Not that he enjoys being made to wait like a petitioner to see the queen. A staffer brings him a glass of water and he shifts around in his chair, checking his phone periodically and trying to get comfortable. Still no answer from Charles. Munroe has a series of prints on the far wall across from the windows in bright abstract patterns which he stares at for several minutes before realizing they're kitenges.

While he's waiting, another deputy arrives, chatting with Munroe's assistants before he rounds the corner to the reception room. Erik tenses at the sound of his voice, bracing himself as Hank appears in the doorway. He looks around the room and brightens oddly when he spots Erik. He walks over and takes the seat across from him despite Erik's best efforts not to express any conviviality.

"Morning, Lehnsherr," he says, nodding as he sits down. "How long have you been waiting?"

Erik shrugs. "Maybe twenty minutes?"

"Eh," McCoy says, nodding his shaggy blue head. "That's not so bad. Last year, she left me waiting over an hour while the Taylor faction was in her office duking it out."

Erik grunts to acknowledge McCoy's tribulations and shifts in his seat.

"Some dinner last night, hm?" McCoy asks, glancing around the room. "I'm never sure how to handle humans like Richardson, but you're not afraid to take off the kid gloves, are you?"

Erik shrugs. "How else would you handle him?"

"Oh, you know, with extreme delicacy. Subservience, even." McCoy sighs, adjusting his tie. "Well, I think he enjoyed it anyway. You might have a new donor."

"I don't take human money."

McCoy laughs like Erik just cracked a fantastic witticism. "Of course you don't." He shakes his head, still smiling. "Oh, actually, that reminds me." McCoy taps his forehead, his expression shifting to something more business-like. "I meant to say something last night, but didn't get a chance before you and Charles left. We should talk about the teleportation bill."

Erik blinks, sitting up straighter. "What about it?"

"Well, passing it for starters," McCoy says, smiling widely with all of his sharp ape teeth. He makes an impatient gesture, motioning for Erik to come closer. "Look, we both know it's a good bill and there's no reason to hold it up any longer. If the two of us make a motion of support at the next committee meeting we can have it sent to the to the floor after the next recess. Just in time for Liberation Day!"

Erik clears his throat. "You mean you—I thought…weren't you holding it up for, um, political reasons?"

McCoy sighs and glances around like he wants to be sure there isn't a staffer standing behind him. "I don't have much patience for that kind of thing, and I know for a fact you don't either. The law is sound, it serves the public good, and we are—allegedly—part of the same coalition. Let's get it done."

"Okay," Erik nods. "Let's. I agree."

McCoy hold out his hand, waiting until Erik takes it and then clasping him firmly with both paws. "Excellent."

"Excuse me, Deputy Lehnsherr?" One of Munroe's assistants comes around the corner, holding up a folder and motioning toward him.

"Yes?" Erik says, adding unnecessarily, "That's me."

"The Minister will see you now."

Erik shakes McCoy's hand again in goodbye and gets a very lusty clap on the shoulder in response.

"Great, well. Glad I ran into you, Deputy. Hank!" Erik says, waving to him as he leaves. It's the first time he's ever said such a thing to McCoy and meant it.

Munroe is dressed in an impeccable black suit, her white hair flowing over her shoulders. She's wearing several heavy gold neck rings, detailed with traditional Genoshan patterns of twisting vines and flowers. She looks incredibly regal, her black headband resting like a crown over her forehead.

"Minister," Erik says, taking her proffered hand. "Thank you for making time to talk with me."

She presses her lips together in a condescending smile. "Good morning, Deputy Lehnsherr. You're welcome. Thank you for coming the long way up to see me. I thought I should start early on the budget discussions, getting the more difficult…issues out of the way."

Erik bares his teeth in an approximation of a smile. When he first met Munroe he'd made the mistake of assuming she was part of the island's remaining native population and had been treated to a lecture on the history of trans-African migration and mutant solidarity. Their acquaintance had never really recovered.

"Can I offer you anything?" Munroe asks, making a motion toward one of her lackeys standing at the back. "Water? Tea? There may be some coffee left in the pot as well."

Erik declines and she nods, getting down to business. There is a row of thick, bound reports sitting on the table and one of her assistants slides one across the glass to Erik. "The latest budget for your review. I think you'll find it much more to your liking."

Erik peels back the clear plastic cover and flips immediately to the section on departmental appropriations. The number he's looking for is somewhat less atrocious, but still not really to his liking. "18. _6?_ " he asks.

Munroe frowns at his incredulous tone. "It's actually an increase from last year."

"Barely, if you don't factor in inflation."

"Compared to the original cuts, it's extremely generous."

He closes the cover and pushes the report away from him, back across the table toward her. "Is this the final?"

"No," Munroe says, smoothing out several pages Erik had bent in his haste. "There's always time for more adjustments. But they're much more likely to be to the Refugee Office's disadvantage. Adler personally requested the increase, you know."

"I know," Erik says. "I appreciate that."

"Her influence is very important," Munroe says. Her eyes narrow slightly as she adds, "Of course, the vote tomorrow could change that."

Erik can't help the startled laugh that escapes him. It's a bit of a problem for him, not taking threats seriously enough. "If I prove insufficiently loyal, you mean? Is Adler really that concerned? I'm hardly a threat to her. One vote isn't going to bring down the government."

Munroe looks away, reaching over to point at something on her assistant's laptop screen like she's only half paying attention to Erik. "It certainly won't."

"Why drag me down here for this, then?" he asks, wanting to get in one dig before he goes. "She wanted you to lean on me, to keep me pinned down. I might only be one vote, but I'm the first in a row of dominos that could bring down your house of cards."

She laughs. "You're really not very good at similes."

"It'll come down some day. No dynasty lasts forever."

"Why, are you planning the next?" she asks, giving him a sharp look,

Erik shrugs.

"If cheering crowds were all it took, you would be Prime Minister already. But the thing about playing cards is that they're very easy to replace."

______________

When he gets back to the office, the first thing he does is find Darwin and Emma and drag them into the conference room. He tells them about his conversation with McCoy first, still reeling and confused about what even happened there.

Emma's face lights up when he finishes. "Finally!"

"What? Finally want? I don't even understand what happened!"

"He thinks you're friends now, dumbass! You finally learned to schmooze."

"What—seriously? You think this is because of the dinner?"

"Of course it's because of the dinner. You have a few drinks, a little friendly conversation, he sees you all tipsy and sweet with your boyfriend, bam! Legislative progress."

Darwin nods, shrugging. "She's right. You did well."

Erik shakes his head. "That's ridiculous. Disgusting. And he's not my boyfriend."

"Not yet," Emma says, leaning back in her seat and looking satisfied.

"What about Munroe?" Darwin asks. "How did that go?"

"Uh, okay. They offered the barest increase but only if I go in Adler's favor at the no-confidence vote."

Emma nods. "Good, that's good. I assume you're taking it."

Erik shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I don't know. I'm tempted. I mean, you both think I should do it, right? Stay in the Coalition now and save myself from a run-off during the election. It makes sense, and this way OAR doesn't get any funding cuts."

"And the Brotherhood doesn't get banned," Darwin adds.

"Right. But. Do you think I'm letting go too soon?"

"What do you mean?" Emma asks.

"I don't know. It feels like, if I've got them pinned down I should twist their arms a little more."

"To get what?"

Erik shrugs. "Couldn't hurt to bump OAR's budget by a point or two."

"Could hurt if they remember you as a bad deal-maker who asks for more than his due," Darwin points out.

"Could hurt if I let them think I'm a pushover who's easily bought," Erik replies.

Emma shakes her head. "I think you should hold out as long as you can before the vote, but keep in mind you might need that political capital for something else."

"I'll try not to spend it all in one place."

______________

Several hours later, Erik gets a text message, and almost drops his phone when he sees it's from Charles. _Hey, want to come over for dinner?_

He texts back _yes_ immediately, checking the clock and realizing it's nearly five. _I'll be there in 30._

He almost adds something like _did you see my message from earlier?_ but that's so needy he feels gross for even thinking it. Instead he quietly stews on his way over to Charles' place, wondering again what the hell he did wrong the other night.

The door is open when Erik arrives, and Charles is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. He glances up at Erik as he enters, smiling in a way that highlights the dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey," Erik says, some of his anger easing in the face of Charles' obvious exhaustion.

"Hi," Charles says, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry I didn't call you earlier. I had an appointment in the morning and then—well, stuff happened."

Erik shrugs. "It's okay," he says, although he's still holding onto some of his resentment from being ignored. "Feeling any better?"

"Not really…" Charles says, looking away. "I've been—" He sighs. "It was a doctor's appointment. In the morning. I'm sorry. I—things have been kind of bad lately, and I haven't been handling it very well. I haven't been handling much of anything very well."

Charles scrubs his hand over his face and Erik waits, pausing to see if he's going to elaborate on that. After a moment, he does. "It's been ten years now and I thought that I…I thought I knew what it meant. What it would be like, you know, for the rest of my life. After I got out of recovery and I had time to adjust, I—you know, I knew what my body could handle, my limitations—" Charles pauses, blinking heavily.

"Will you tell me what's wrong already? Or are you just going to keep talking around it?" Erik asks, belatedly realizing that he sounds kind of harsh. "Please?" he adds.

"I'm getting there," Charles says. "Give me a second, I'm working up to it. Do you want something? Tea? Water? I was thinking we could order takeout."

"No, no, I'm fine," Erik says, sitting down across from him. "I'm not even that hungry."

"Me neither. Can I ask you something first?"

"Sure. What?"

"Why aren't you out?" Charles asks, his eyebrows coming together like this has been puzzling for a while. "It doesn't seem like—you don't seem to the type to not talk about it."

"Uh," Erik sits back, unbuttoning his collar. "Well, there honestly hasn't been much to talk _about_ —and what am I going to do? Hold a press conference and announce that I maybe like guys too? Maybe a lot?" Charles raises his eyebrows at that, and Erik heads him off before he can cut in. "But that's only an excuse. I just—I hate the idea of having this— _persona._ This projected version of me with all the edges sanded off and pre-tested for focus group approval. Your most personal relationships become part of the package and…it makes everything feel so inauthentic. Staged."

"I guess I get that. So it's not just a privacy thing."

"It's why I'm so bad at interviews, I get annoyed as soon as someone starts asking questions that aren't strictly about policy. But the other thing is—that's part of my stupid image now. Surly Lehnsherr gets rude on camera and says something off-the-cuff and brash. You won't guess what he said this time! I can't win."

Charles laughs.

"And this thing with you—I hate this stupid fucking invasive bullshit where everyone wants to know my business and pick apart my life and talk about how _electable_ this character flaw or that is and—and I hate that anyone I get involved with is going to get dragged down into the mud with me."

"It's the price of leading a public life."

"I know."

"Okay, I think I'm ready now."

"Okay?" Erik says, waiting as Charles stares down at the tabletop and says nothing for a long moment. "It's just—it's the only thing you never want to talk to me about. Like you're avoiding it."

Charles lets out a little huff in a bad imitation of laughter and nods. "It is, isn't it? Well. I guess part of the reason I've been avoiding the topic is because it's a bit much to put on someone at the start of a relationship. I didn't want to seem too…pathetic."

"That's not how I see you."

Charles makes that sound again, that soft self-pitying sigh. "Wait ‘til I finish telling you before you decide. The thing is—the thing is that I need surgery. It's why my hands are getting weaker, and it's why I've been having such a hard time getting around lately. After I was first injured they did a spinal fusion, but the bone graft didn't take. I have movement there—pseudarthrosis—a false joint. It wasn't a big deal at first; I was pretty much asymptomatic until the hardware in my back started failing. I popped a screw a few months ago, which was exceedingly painful, and also put stress on the rest of my spine. So now I need surgery again and if I don't have it soon the damage may be—irreversible."

"Is this because you fled to Genosha while you were still rehabilitating?"

"Erm, somewhat. I probably would have needed surgery again even if I hadn't fled, but leaving when I did and interrupting my therapy didn't exactly help matters."

"I don't understand why you…" Erik shakes his head. "So have the surgery then. You're clearly in a lot of pain and if this will help at all—"

"It would."

"Then why didn't you want to tell me…?" Erik leans back in his chair. "There's something else."

Charles nods. He looks down at his hand and taps one finger on the table, hesitating like he's not going to continue. "The other thing is that…it's very serious surgery. They'd have to yank out the hardware in my spine and rebuild it and then do another bone graft. Orthopedic surgery has come a long way in Genosha—it's really amazing what they've accomplished in the past ten years—but something like this…Normally they send you off-island for treatment. There's no one in Genosha with enough experience to do it."

Erik shifts, taking his napkin out of his lap to wipe his face. "Where then?"

"Oh, where you'd expect. South Africa, Australia, India, most countries in Europe, Japan… Lots of countries, really. But nowhere that doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States."

Erik's stomach twists as he realizes what that means. He tosses the napkin down on the table. "And you can't go back."

"No, I'd be tried for treason. ‘Theft of military technology,' they call it. For stealing yourself."

"Trading secrets to an enemy nation."

"Exactly. It's in the Stryker Amendment. "

"And what happens if you don't get the surgery?"

"I'll continue to deteriorate, and probably be in more and more pain as it gets worse. In another year, give or take a few months, I probably won't be able to walk. So. I can try to request amnesty to travel somewhere and get the surgery done, but that's not very likely and certainly won't happen within the year. Or I can go home and spend the rest of my life in prison on the off chance that they might be merciful and let me get it done in between trial dates."

"Are there any other options? Medically?"

Charles shrugs. "Potentially. I've been seeing various people, and there are a few surgeons who are willing to attempt it. But that's a bit of a long shot and the risks go up with inexperience. They could at least do some basic procedures to relieve some of the pressure, buy me some time. But really," he laughs again, long and bitter, "it's not like the full surgery is a sure thing anyway. It's entirely possible that it won't even work, or they'll fuck it up and I'll wind up completely paralyzed for life. So."

"What about Cuba?"

Charles huffs. "Sure, but how? On what flight? The Moscow corridor was cut off five years ago, if I could even handle an international trip with transfers."

"Are there any mutants who can do this surgery?"

Charles laughs again, bitterly, and it makes Erik's skin crawl. He's never heard Charles sound mean before. "That would be nice, but no. Maybe someday, but not yet. Not as far as I know."

"So the only other option…"

"Is bringing a human surgical team to Genosha, yes."

Erik licks his lips. His skin feels hot and his empty stomach is churning now, like he might be sick. "But I made that impossible."

Charles' face remains impassive as he shrugs. He looks blank; like he's talked about this so many times that it no longer affects him emotionally. "Essentially. It's quite a pricey proposition, bringing someone here. Just getting one surgeon, never mind his dozen assistants and all the equipment they need—it's not something I can afford alone, even with my resources. And then, Genosha's health care system is entirely state-run. And the government can't pay for humans to come to Genosha, or for their employment once they get here."

Erik pushes back from the table, and takes a deep breath before standing. He wipes a hand over his face, walking to the window and staring out for a long moment. "Why are you telling me now?"

Charles shrugs again. "You asked."

Erik takes another breath. His mind is working in overdrive, reexamining various puzzle pieces and snatches of conversation and fitting them back together into a new picture, one that Erik doesn't like very much. "Did you—plan this?" he asks. "Sleeping with me?"

"What?" Charles cocks his head, his blank expression finally breaking as his mouth drops open and he gapes at Erik.

"What was the plan?" Erik asks. His hands are shaking but his voice is steady, growing stronger in the face of Charles' betrayal. "Get close to me so I feel sorry for you? Do you even _like_ me? Has any of this been real?"

Charles closes his mouth, lips coming together into a hard line. "I know it might be hard to believe, but I actually am this easy."

"But you thought about it, didn't you?"

"It wasn't like that, I didn't—" Charles breaks off, clenching his jaw. "Okay, yes, when I first got your messages, it occurred to me that maybe I could convince you to help me somehow."

Erik shakes his head. "I don't believe this. I can't believe you."

"Erik, do you realize—" Charles slams his hand down on the table once, hitting the wood hard with his fist. "You have completely and totally _fucked_ me. Unintentionally or not, I can't get my surgery and it's your god-damned fault."

"Don't you dare put this all on me. I'm sorry you've had a shit life and you're in a difficult position right now, but don't act like I'm personally responsible for your problems."

Charles grits his teeth, looking for an instant like he's about to say just that. But then he shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling, breathing heavily. "No, you're right. You're not. But I guess I thought maybe you could be the solution."

"Charles."

"Go away, Erik. My back hurts, and it will probably always hurt, and I'm so fucking tired and I just want you to go away now." His voice breaks, and Erik takes a step toward him, reaching out one hand. He feels a flash of regret, but he knows it's too late now to take it back. Charles turns away from him, swiveling in his seat so his back is to Erik.

"Fine," Erik says in response. He goes back into the hallway to find his coat, yanking it on as he slams the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for leaving you with a cliffhanger. The next part is finished and in beta and will be posted later this week. 
> 
> Thanks to Runi and clawfoottub for help betaing.


	8. Chapter 8

Erik goes back to the office with the intention of doing something productive with his anger. It's late enough now that all of the cubicles and offices are empty, so no one is there to see when he breaks into Emma's office and raids her emergency vodka stash. She must have replaced it recently, as he finds a brand-new bottle in her desk drawer. He breaks the seal and takes three huge swigs, coughing as it burns all the way down. He's so wound up he can't sit down. Instead he marches in circles and reenacts his fight with Charles out loud. He can't help flashing back to various points in their short relationship, seeing previous conversations and odd moments with new, angrier eyes.

"Saturday—at the fucking dinner," he says, taking another swig as he rounds Emma's desk. "You were mad at me because Logan brought up my fucking law hurting the school's funding. I can't believe you didn't— _why didn't you just fucking tell me!"_

He picks up a decorative vase from the desk with the intention of smashing it on the ground before remembering that he's not in his own office. He sets it back down again, but he's drunk enough already that he misjudges the edge of the desk and it slides off. The vase cracks loudly when it meets the floor.

"Shit." He kneels down and tries to pick up the shards, depositing a few in the wastebasket before the part of him that's not completely blitzed yet points out that he's too drunk to be handling broken glass. He sits down instead, leaning against the side of Emma's couch and finding the vodka bottle for another drink.

Everything seems less enraging and more hopeless down on the floor for some reason. "Why didn't you just fucking tell me?" he asks, addressing himself to the bottle. "So fucking stupid." He sniffs then, realizing he's starting to get maudlin, which just makes him sadder and also in need of another drink. But when he raises the bottle to his mouth, he discovers that it's empty. The fact that it was lying on it's side and there's a lot of liquid on the floor might have something to do with that.

"Well, fuck," he says, tossing it toward the wastebasket and missing. His own office is much too far away to crawl at this point. Instead, Erik wrestles himself up onto Emma's couch, needing several false starts before he makes it all the way on top of the cushions. He closes his eyes, resolving to take a short nap until he sobers up and then call a taxi home.

______________

"Erik? Erik? Erik!" Erik ignores the hand on his arm, turning his head further into the cushions in an effort to block out the light. He's not sure what's so damn urgent, but he's sure that the moment he opens his eyes his hangover headache will assert itself painfully.

"Lehnsherr. Lehnsherr! I can tell you're awake, get the fuck up!"

Emma turns him over forcibly, nearly pulling him off the couch in the process. He reaches out reflexively to put his hand down on the ground and keep from rolling off. A sharp stab of pain goes through his skull as the bright morning light from the window assaults his eyes. "Emma?"

Emma makes a face, coughing and turning away from him as she waves her hand in the air. "Ugh, what the hell happened to you?"

"Why are you in my house?"

"Why are you in _my_ _office_?"

"Huh," Erik says. He raises a hand, covering his eyes and trying to remember why he's here. "I don't—I think I got in a fight with Charles…?" He remembers then, the realization hitting him hard as his heart sinks like a stone. "Oh. Oh, I did."

"Having a tiff with your stupid boyfriend is no excuse for getting throw-up drunk in my office!"

"He's not my boyfriend." Saying that hurts, unexpectedly. He'll never be his boyfriend now. Or even his friend, most likely. "And I didn't throw up."

Emma holds up her metal wastebasket in response, tilting it so he can see the contents.

"Oh. Sorry."

"I would hope." She drops it back down to the floor, smirking when the loud clang makes him wince. "Go home and get cleaned up."

Erik sighs, rubbing at his face, which feels oily and sticky. Getting to his feet seems like an abominable task. Just sitting up makes the room teeter dangerously. "I think I'm still drunk."

Emma gasps, lifting the empty bottle off the floor. "You dick! You broke in here to drink _my_ vodka!?" She brandishes it in the air like she's thinking about throwing it at his head. "This was top-shelf, you fucking fuck! Not sloppy-drunk-because-I'm-sad liquor!"

"It was an emergency."

"Your house better have been on fucking fire!"

"No," Erik sighs and rubs at his face. "Things got really fucked—shit, I think I might have made it worse. Irreparably worse."

"Nothing's irreparable. Get up and go home. You'll feel better after you've brushed your teeth."

Erik shakes his head, still not ready to get up. "Why are you in politics, Emma?"

Emma squints at him, her lip curling in disgust. "God, you are still drunk. I hate when you get philosophical."

"Why?"

She shrugs. "The same reason people rob banks?"

"Money?"

"It's where they keep the power."

Erik nods, coughing as he tries to get more comfortable on the couch. "I wanted to—change things. Give people a voice. Really make a difference."

"I _know_ , Erik. I wrote half your campaign website. Will you get out of my office already?"

Erik ignores her, continuing to ramble. "The problem is, you think you're doing one thing, and then all these—unintended consequences result. You think you know what you're doing, but you don't. What gives me the right to be so powerful? Making speeches and passing laws and playing at the radical when I'm just—just another fuck-up out-of-touch politician who doesn't realize what a bumbling mess his policies makes in real people's lives."

"Okay, I don't know what this is about…" Emma says, pausing to see if he is going to tell her. Erik picks up one of her pillows and puts it over his eyes to block the light. "But shit happens, Erik. It doesn't make you a bad person."

He laughs and shakes his head, feeling too bitter to find a proper rebuttal.

Emma sighs. Erik hears her desk chair roll over and the sound of her sitting in it. "What I mean is, it doesn't make you a bad person _unless_ you step away from the responsibility to make it right. Policy is theory _,_ it's not foolproof. You have certain intentions and goals and then you release it on the world as law and hope to god you were right. But politicians aren't gods. You fuck up, it's inevitable. But that's why we have things like, you know, amendments."

"It's just that easy, huh?"

"Yes, it is," Emma snaps, her tone crossing from affectionate annoyance into anger. She snatches the pillow away from his face. "Get up! Get up!" She takes his arm, digging in with her fingernails and pulling like she means it. Erik lets her wrestle him to his feet and then immediately regrets it. He has to lean on her desk for several seconds while he waits for the world to stop spinning.

"Ah, give me a break, Emma."

"No!" She punches him in the arm hard enough to hurt and he flinches away from her, raising his hand to block.

"Hey! Come on."

"Enough breaks, I have given you so many lately, Erik. God, I am so tired of your personal crises I could scream. I swear on my father's balls, this is the last time I am talking you down from the ledge. You know why you're panicking right now? Why you've been panicking for this entire fucking month? Because it's time to decide _who you are_."

She gets into his space, making him stand up fully to face her as she backs him into the corner next to the door. "This indecisive bullshit stops now. Who are you? Outsider or insider? Revolutionary or reformer? Idealist or politico? If you'd rather be an activist, by all means go be an activist and stop wasting my time. Or do you want to be a politician and roll up your sleeves to start making sausage? Because it is not going to be pretty, and I guarantee you won't feel clean at the end of the day, but we might just have some god-dammed dinner when you're done."

Erik dodges around her to escape her accusing finger. He goes back to the desk and leans his hands on the cool wood. He wonders if she'd leave if he crawled underneath it to hide. He'd really like to lie down on the carpet there and just escape from everything for a few hours. "I'm afraid I'm forgetting who I am. Forgetting why I ran in the first place. I was trying to help people, help mutants, but…"

He hears Emma sigh and sit down on her couch. "Look, it's hard to maintain ideological purity when you're down in the trenches. It's hard and it's not fun, but, believe me, you are doing better than most, Erik. I've know a lot of scuzzy politicians in my time and that's not who you are. For starters, I don't want to work for them."

"I've really fucked up this time, Emma. What am I going to do?"

"You're going to stop wallowing in self-hatred and fix it."

Erik keeps staring down at the desk, thinking again about how nice it would be to lie down underneath it. How is he supposed to fix this when doing so unravels the one real accomplishment of his freshman term? His only success as a legislator was to keep Genoshan money in mutant hands, and also to completely ruin Charles' life.

"Either tell me what is happening or get out of my office. Now."

Erik takes a deep breath. "The no-pay-for-humans law is blocking Charles from getting a human surgeon onto the island. For a surgery no mutants can perform."

"What? So? Tell him to go to fucking Cuba!"

"Yeah, it's not that simple. The quickest way to solve it would be to repeal the law."

"What? Don't be stupid, god invented loopholes for a reason."

Erik laughs. "A loophole. That's how it goes, huh? Today one loophole, then tomorrow another, and another, and another, and one for every special interest group that comes along, and before you know it, the whole law is so hollow it might as well be meaningless."

"It doesn't have to go like that, all or nothing. It doesn't have to be a zero sum game."

"It's just—the restrictions on public money have been _huge_ in preventing human corporations from buying up the island. I mean, you know that, you've seen the same statistics I have. They're all too worried now to make major investments. They can't trust that the government won't suddenly take it all away."

"They still get in through other ways."

"Sure, but not at the same rate. The percentage of foreign investments _fell_ last year for the first time. Keeping Genosha independent, keeping it mutant. That's important."

"This doesn't necessarily change that. You don't have to repeal anything, we'll put together some language, a narrow amendment allowing exceptions in rare situations. This is totally doable, Erik. It's not even get-drunk bad."

"Great. Well, it's another stupid concession for the Brotherhood to rake me over the coals for, like I don't already hate myself for it. And meanwhile, on the other hand, I get screamed at every day by the other side for not bending far enough."

Emma laughs. "Are you expecting sympathy from me? You're a politician. Everyone hates you. Deal with it."

Erik signs. "I know that. I just—sometimes it gets to me, okay?"

"You're only mad because the Brotherhood reminds you of all the compromises you've had to make. Well, guess what, that's your whole fucking job _._ "

"Your pep talks are really amazing, you know that?"

"You didn't hire me to be your cheerleader."

"No, it appears I hired you to be my dominatrix."

Emma laughs, startled into genuine amusement. "In that case, do as your mistress says and _get out of her fucking office._ "

Erik shakes his head and stands up, picking up his crumpled jacket from the couch and attempting to shake out the wrinkles.

"Listen," Emma adds. "It's good you hate your job. I probably wouldn't want to work for you if you didn't. Go get cleaned up and by the time you're back Darwin and I will have some possible language for you."

"Keep it narrow."

"Wouldn't do it any other way."

______________

 

Erik goes home to take a nap, sleeping off the remnants of his hangover. He does feel much better once he's woken up and taken a shower. Maybe this is fixable—at least the legislative part, if not his relationship with Charles. He probably torpedoed that when he accused Charles of sleeping with him for personal gain.

When he gets back to the office, he claps his hands at Emma, smiling at the stack of possible solutions she hands him. "Roll up your sleeves and get out the food processor—we're making kishke."

Emma just looks at him. "I don't know what that means."

"Sausage, Emma. We're making sausage."

______________

They go over his options and make some changes, arguing over the details. It's a long, frustrating meeting, and Erik loses track of time. He's surprised when an intern comes in and whispers something to Emma.

"Guess what," Emma says. "The opposition got the debate onto the floor. The confidence vote is happening now. All hands on deck."

Erik nods and gets up. He feels confident, centered now that he knows what he's going to do—at least about the vote. He's not entirely sure what will come after.

In the end, the vote itself is almost hilariously anticlimactic. The loyal opposition spends just under an hour berating Adler's administration for every mistake or minor scandal she's accumulated over the past twenty-five years. When the votes are called, it's not even close. Erik stands for his own vote, figuring he might as well make a statement if he's showing his hand.

"Nay," he says, getting applauds from Adler's half of the hall. "I have every confidence in the Minister and her administration. Long may she lead Genosha to further prosperity."

Afterwards, Adler is swamped with well-wishers, of course. Erik waits patiently, knowing that Emma had spoken with one of her aides and arranged a meeting earlier. Eventually, he's called to the front of the throng and ushered down the underground hallway that leads to the Prime Minister's office. Adler is standing in the antechamber with her back to the door, shaking hands and nodding at Munroe, who looks very pleased about what this means for the finance bill.

"Deputy Lehnsherr!" Adler says, not turning around as she says his name. "Do come here." She holds out her arm and waits for Erik to step up and take it. "Congratulations, Madam. I'm glad the assembly showed their confidence in your government."

"Yes," she says, her smile growing wider. "I'm very pleased with everyone who made the right decision."

Erik laughs a little at that, not sure if she's making a joke. "If you—I'm sure you're very busy today, but I have a request."

"Yes, I rather thought you would."

"It, um, it may take some discussion."

"First, what is it?"

Erik takes a breath. "I have—there's a mutant badly in need of advanced medical care he cannot receive on our soil. He has outstanding criminal charges in the United States and cannot risk leaving the country. You could request a hardship exemption for him through the UN, put pressure on the United States to pardon him."

Adler lets out a startled laugh, turning her head toward Munroe to give her a disbelieving look.

"You don't ask for much do you, Lehnsherr?" Munroe says, shaking her head.

Erik ignores her, staying focused on Adler. "Madam?"

Adler sighs and squeezes his hand where it's still holding her arm. "That is not an easy, or even likely possibility. It would take months of negotiation, if not years. It's not going to happen, Deputy. Not for one man."

She loosens her grip, stepping away toward Munroe as she drops his hand.

Erik looks down and weighs his options. His principles on one side, Charles on the other. "Wait."

Adler pauses, turning her face slightly toward him.

"What if they came here? The doctors. What if they came to Genosha?"

"It's an elegant solution," Adler said. "But the problem is that the Genoshan health care system is state-run and the government can't pay for human doctors to come here."

Erik nods. "But what if it could?"

"What are you offering?"

"I'll—revise the no-pay-for-humans law. Put in some exemptions."

"That could be political suicide. It's a very popular law."

"It was my bill, I can get the votes."

Adler turns to face him fully, taking another step toward him. "Ororo," she says. "Wait in the hallway, this will only take a moment."

Erik waits until Munroe steps out and an assistant shuts the door before continuing. "I need to figure out the details, but I can get it done."

"You weren't here, were you?" Adler says, touching one hand to her forehead. "In the early '90s, when the sanctions were at their worst?"

Erik can only gape at her at first, startled by the non sequitur. "Um, I was—no," he admits, feeling guilty, as always, that he missed the lean years. The starving years. Genosha's darkest period since the civil war itself. Not that it was his fault that he was off being medically tortured in Germany at the time. "No. I wasn't."

Adler nods, her head tilting back as if she's remembering. "We came so close, then. Right up to the edge. When Russia cut off its aid, I truly thought that would be the end of independent Genosha."

"We survived," Erik says, with more than a little pride.

Adler reaches out her hand, holding it toward him, and Erik moves closer to let her take his arm again. "We are still there, standing on the edge. Genosha is _always_ there. Too many of us have forgotten that, or think we need to let go of the old siege mentality. The standard of living rises and everyone feels more secure, like a few luxuries mean safety. But as leaders, we must never grow complacent. We can never forget that there are forces in the human world plotting and waiting for our fall."

"I know," Erik says. "I won't forget."

Adler smiles, her face lifting. "And that is why I like you," she says. "You need to learn caution, and that silence is sometimes the better part of valor. But you understand the world and our place in it. Yet…I worry, Erik. You want to make us into this symbol, this beacon in the night. But how can we be a symbol to the world when we barely have our own house in order?"

Erik licks his lips, stumbling for words. "We already _are_ a symbol. We—do you know how I learned the Genoshan anthem? I first heard it as a child from other mutants at the hospital where we were held. A woman used to sing it at night, one lone voice in the darkness longing for mother Genosha."

"That's—" She pauses, pressing her hand to her chest. "That's very beautiful, and I do appreciate what our existence means, the hope it gives to other mutants. But I'm afraid of what it will mean when Genosha inevitably fails to live up to that ideal and all of the weight of that symbolism comes crashing down on top of us."

"I think you're underestimating your own people."

"And you chronically overestimate our distance from humanity. And, you… you _immigrants._ It gets tiring sometimes, the way you people just keep flooding in, with nothing but your arrogance and the conviction that you belong. Even if you know nothing about this island. Nothing of our history. Speaking English or German or French or whatever colonialist language you know and not even bothering to learn one _word_ of ours."

"I'm learning Mutalay," Erik says, half under his breath. Actually, he had dropped out of his classes years ago when he got too busy. But he likes knowing at least a few phrases he can use with constituents, like "It's nice to meet you" and "Please excuse my bad Mutalay."

Adler smiles like she knows exactly how big his vocabulary is, making Erik feel like a schoolboy again. He pauses to rub the back of his neck. "I know we can be…frustrating. But at the best of times, it comes from a good place. We just want so badly to belong. To so many mutants, Genosha is like this....this beacon of hope. This magical place where one day, if we're lucky, we can go and be free and live without fear."

"I know, I do understand," Adler says, bowing her head. "It's a wonderful burden we bear, the scrutiny of the world and the hopes of millions of mutants. I just hope we can live up to them without losing ourselves along the way."

"Do you think I know Genosha? That I understand her?"

She smiles. "More than most. More than some of my own party members, probably."

"Then it won't be lost. I learned it from you, Madam. If I can come here and heal then surely our mother has room enough for another million more."

"We may yet have to. All right." Adler stands up straighter and raises her chin, her face hardening back into the politician's mask. "You'll get your amendment. But I need something from you first. Guaranteed support from the Brotherhood so long as the Coalition stands."

Erik blinks, not sure he's heard correctly. "Uh, okay? But that's only one vote—me."

"For now," Adler says. "I'll expect you to keep the rest of your rowdy caucus in line after the next election cycle."

"How can I promise to do that when I don't even know if—"

Adler gives him a sharp look. "I hope you're playing coy, Deputy. If the Brotherhood sweeps this election, they'll be part of _your_ wave and your caucus, whether they like it or not. You'd better learn to control your party or you'll all be crashing together on the same rocks."

He clears his throat. "I'll do my best, Madam Prime Minister. Assuming I'm still here."

She nods and holds her hand out. Erik takes it and they shakes once. "I know. I think you will be. I have a—feeling. It's a deal."

______________

 

Erik thinks about calling Charles immediately afterwards. He thinks about it approximately once an hour for the next ten days, the entire time the budget is being debated and hashed out. But he doesn't want to give him false hope before it's official, so he waits. Then, after it _is_ official, he's not sure if Charles will want to talk to him. He's also not sure he wants to talk to Charles. So he doesn't call, and he doesn't text or send an email, either. He just thinks about it incessantly and waits.

So on Saturday, when Erik is home making breakfast, he's still thinking about it. He's just resolving to talk to Charles _tomorrow_ —as he has several times before—when he looks down at his vibrating phone and sees Charles' picture staring back at him.

Erik stares down at the phone and the little box that says "Your Boyfriend calling." He really needs to change his lock code to something Emma doesn't know. He thinks about ignoring it. He thinks about turning off his phone. His thumb hesitates over the "block" button.

He presses "answer."

"You _asshole,_ " Charles says, shouting it before Erik has the chance to say anything.

"Um, hello?"

"You go pass this thing and don't even have the guts to tell me about it? I had to hear about it from fucking Logan of all people _._ What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I don't—I didn't think you'd want to talk to me."

"I don't! And yet somehow here we are!"

"Okay," Erik says. "You sound like you're still mad."

"I am!"

"Which is why I didn't want to call you."

"That's no excuse. Will you—come over here. I hate talking on the phone when I can't sense someone's moods."

"Fine, I'll leave now."

"You'd best." Charles hangs up.

Erik takes the train over to Charles' apartment, his stomach churning the whole way over. He wishes he hadn't had lunch. It feels like his hangover from after their last disastrous night together is coming back with a vengeance.

When he knocks, Charles opens the door almost immediately, standing on the other side like he's been waiting there for Erik. He doesn't move, blocking the doorway with his body and his cane, forcing Erik to hesitate out in the hallway.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

"I don't know," Charles says. "You accused me of being a lobbyist whore."

"That's not—I did not!" Erik says, throwing up his hands. " _You_ lied to me repeatedly!"

"I never lied to you!" Charles says, looking deeply affronted.

"By omission!"

Charles grits his teeth and makes an aggravated noise. "Look, I was going to tell you right away but then I actually _liked_ you and I was afraid you'd tell me to fuck off. And _then_ I was afraid that when I finally did tell you, you would flip out on me. Which—by the way—you did!"

"I did not—" Erik pauses to take a breath. "Okay, maybe I flipped out a little bit," he admits. "But it was justified! And—and!— _you're_ the one who asked me to come over here today," he points out, trying not to bristle.

"I know I did!" Charles sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose, his voice dropping back down to a more normal level. "It's just. Now that you're here I don't know if it's such a good idea."

Erik looks down. "I still—" He licks his lip, not sure what to say. He's not sure if there's anything he can say that will fix this for both of them. "I want to, if you'll let me."

"Why?" Charles asks. "I've been lying to you all this time. Why would you still—how can you even stand to look at me?"

Erik shakes his head, and raises his eyes back to Charles' face, meeting that challenge. "The thing is, I don't trust easily, and I _really_ don't forgive easily. But I also don't like most people."

Charles laughs at that, not smiling. "Be serious."

"I mean it, something like 80% of the people I meet on a daily basis, I hate. So when I don't, when I meet someone I actually like and even...click with, I like to hold onto those people." There's a pause, and Charles sniffs, biting his lip.

"Do you hate me?" Erik asks.

"Oh, Erik. No, I don't hate you. I like you…I like you a hell of a lot. It's just that I kind of hate the abstract idea of you, too. Or I used to."

"I know I tend to—to do things sometimes without realizing their consequences, or really caring what the consequences are. And now I'm in this position where I can _really_ fuck things up in all sorts of new ways I never saw coming. You made me realize that I…I need to get better about that. If I'm going to keep being a politician."

Charles shrugs. "Well. It was probably unfair of me to blame it all on you, but. It's been a rough year for me, okay?"

"I know. I'm going to try. I can make this right, I can—" He grits his teeth, feeling his eyes watering and trying to will himself not to blink. "Sorry, it's been a while. I'm sort of new at this."

One corner of Charles' mouth lifts in a begrudging smile. "Being a politician?"

"Being in love."

Charles sucks in a deep breath, looking startled. He raises a hand to his forehead to hide his eyes, his mouth twisting in an expression that might be grief or happiness. "Don't say that, you barely know me."

"I know, but I—I also don't love easily, but I know what it's like and I know my own mind. I _could_ love you. I know that, I'm already falling for you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, but I just—it's this really intense feeling and I needed to tell you. In case this is my last chance."

Charles shakes his head and swipes at his right eye with his thumb. "Everything you feel is intense."

"I know, I'm sorry, you don't have to say anything back," Erik adds, stumbling over his words in his haste to explain. "But I—I think that I—I want to have you with me, by my side. If you'll take me."

Charles drops his hand, but keeps his eyes focused to the side, away from Erik's face. "God, Erik. I don't know…you have to realize that part of why I was so angry before is because I'm just—so scared. Even if I have this surgery, it's no guarantee. It could still go badly, paralyze me for life. And I'll never be…even if it goes perfectly, I'll never be how I used to be. Before it happened. I don't want to be a burden to you."

"You're not—that's not how I see you, Charles. You have to realize that. You're maybe the strongest person I know. You've survived so much and somehow you picked up the pieces and made a whole new life for yourself here. You'd never be a burden; I can already feel you buoying me up. It's like—it's like, when I'm with you, I'm more myself than I've ever been. Not just myself, my best self. I want to be that person. And I want to be with you. If you'll let me."

Charles closes his eyes, bowing his head. He takes a deep breath, long and wet, sniffling as he looks up again. "Yes, okay," he says, whispering it like he can't get anything more out, and Erik is so overwhelmed he can't respond. All he can do is lean in to kiss him. He's crying now, tears running down his face, but he doesn't care. They're still standing on Charles' doorstep, half in the hallway where anyone could see them, but Erik doesn't care about that either. All that matters is Charles' mouth under his own, Charles' hand coming up to clutch his collar, Charles' face in his hands, and the murmuring voice in his head saying, _yes, yes, stay with me, now, tonight, forever. Stay._


	9. Epilogue

Erik amends the no-pay-for-humans law to allow for public funding if an accredited Review Board rules that a human project would be providing a service "for the betterment of the nation as a whole, or alleviating significant mutant suffering."

The passage of the amendment itself receives remarkably little attention at the time, mainly because he slips it in unnoticed as a rider on the gargantuan budget bill. It comes back to bite him at election season, but then that’s the way these things work. Thankfully, it doesn’t become a big issue, and the goodwill he earns from the public sector community is enough to outweigh the damage he takes among his radical supporters.

It takes six months to arrange, but the orthopedic surgical team from Cuba arrives in Genosha in June. Over the course of two weeks, they perform twenty-four separate operations on nineteen different mutants, including Charles. All of the surgeries are recorded, and mutant doctors and students are invited to the viewings, and to act as assistants. The team also teaches several seminars at Gen U's college of medicine. It's not enough to turn mutant students into world-class spinal surgeons, but it's a start. Charles still has issues getting around, but the surgery helps stabilize his spine and eliminates most of his chronic pain. It's not a miracle by far, but it's likely the best of all possible outcomes.

The election comes and goes in a mad rush of chaos that Erik is beginning to see as routine. Emma gets her interview, a ridiculous profile piece featuring Erik and the rest of the Brotherhood candidates. It’s featured on the front page of the _Post's_ news magazine with an extremely goofy photo of the four of them shoulder-to-shoulder under the headline “The New Mutants.”

Every Brotherhood candidate gets elected, including Azazel. Some people even call it the "radical wave," but personally Erik doesn’t feel that gaining four seats in a legislature of hundreds is all that impressive. They’ll do better next time. 

Not two months after the election, Emma's long game starts to pay off when Erik receives an invitation to join a small group of fellow legislators in a strategy meeting with the Prime Minister. It's a personal honor and an acknowledgement of the increasing importance of the Brotherhood to the broad coalition that rules Genosha.

He and Charles announce their engagement a year into his second term. It’s Erik's first real public acknowledgement of their relationship, although it's already an open secret and a regular source of tabloid fodder. The response is almost universally supportive and congratulatory, just as Emma and Darwin predicted.

His fellow legislators are equally supportive, if more sedate in their celebrations. Hank congratulates Erik warmly, shaking his hand and saying, "I'm glad Charles finally made an honest man out of you." Erik grits his teeth and smiles falsely at the oft-repeated joke.

Emma makes them take an exceedingly cheesy set of engagement photos for the news blitz. Erik finds them sentimental to the point of being in appallingly bad taste, but he does like the one of them sitting close together with their foreheads touching, the one that has Charles smiling contentedly while Erik looks at him with an intense expression, like he's basking in his presence. It gets ridiculously overused by both his own office and the media, naturally, and Erik is completely sick of it by the time they finally have their small private ceremony at the courthouse, growing increasingly annoyed with the stupid besotted look on his own face plastered everywhere. That picture is probably going to define the rest of his career, trotted out at every minor anniversary or anytime a hack journalist feels the need to soften him up a bit in a profile piece.

The office is deluged with well-wishes and not so subtle hints from every minor VIP, businessman, or community leader who would be honored to be there on the "blessed day." They keep the ceremony and reception small to avoid a circus and then throw an absurdly expensive party after they get back from their honeymoon, inviting basically all of Ward Seven and half of the rest of the island. It's ridiculous and exhausting, but Erik can't help but be pleased by the many times the increasingly drunk guests start ringing their glasses and demanding that he and Charles kiss. They also take in more money in both small gifts and major donations in that one night than Erik had raised in his entire first election campaign.

The annoying picture of Charles and him with their foreheads pressed together is everywhere at the party, of course—on the table settings and in the wedding favors and there's even a big poster version hanging above the buffet table. Erik finds himself grinding his teeth every time he goes to get a canapé and is forced to look at his stupid expression again.

Still, he finds himself appreciating it more later, when Charles hangs a framed copy between a shot from their vows and another from their first dance, putting them up in their bedroom where only they get to see.

But that's not the most embarrassing photograph that came out of their engagement/wedding though. The most embarrassing is the one that Darwin took at the end of the reception, after all of the guests had left and they were cleaning up. Charles was sitting down, too worn out from the day to be on his feet any longer, and Erik had joined him to rest for a moment. Somehow, he fell asleep, and Darwin, the traitor, took advantage of this moment of weakness to take a photo of Erik passed out on Charles' shoulder, his mouth open and his hand still loosely clasping Charles' on the table, his fingers touching his wedding band. Charles gets it framed and adds it to the set of photos in their bedroom.

Most days, when Erik wakes up, it's the second thing he sees, after Charles' own peaceful face next to him, quiet and contented in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is all she wrote. Thank you everyone so much who stuck with this story through the long breaks. I really appreciate all of your encouragement and lovely comments. Once again, thank you to Runi and clawfoottub for doing beta duty, and to everyone who listened to me whine about this story or gave me a pep talk over the past year.
> 
> PS: [I made a book cover if you have an eReader and are into that kind of thing.](http://cygnaut.tumblr.com/post/73266049192/politico-ebook-cover-because-im-feeling)


End file.
